


Try Again

by EtoileGarden



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: AU, Banter, Because I can, Communication, Different Meeting AU, Getting Together, God what are these tags, Learning To Communicate, M/M, Making Out, Miscommunication, No Magic AU, Ronan POV, adam pov, canon level violence, grinding in cars, just random shit AU ok??, not slow slow burn, there are a lot of emotions here, this IS finished but COULD get another chapter? maybe? who knows?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-08 02:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 73,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15921016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden
Summary: “Oi,” Ronan snorts, “Why the fuck are you talking to me like I’m a stranger?”Adam looks at him.“You are,” he points out. “We’re strangers.”“You got naked in my bathroom,” Ronan points out right back, “we’ve just spent the afternoon drinking coffee and telling fart jokes. I don’t think we’re strangers.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guyyyyyyys I'm back with ANOTHER dumbass getting together Au fic for my boys. This is finished, but, it also has the possibility for another chapter if need be. Let me know if it do need be.  
> As always, this is.........unedited as all heck. YW.

It was three thirty on a stinking hot Friday afternoon, and Adam should be half an hour into his shift at Poppy’s Diner. 

 

He wasn’t, because, as Adam is well aware, life isn’t fair. 

 

Instead. He’s sitting in a scrubby patch of grass on the side of the road, pressing the heels of his hands hard against his eyeballs and trying desperately not to cry because that would definitely not be a useful thing to be happening right now at all. 

 

He gets it. He does. Poppy doesn’t want him on shift today because it is  _ not a good look _ having your waiter’s face blotchy with purple and yellow bruising and still raw grazes. Nobody wants to order from someone who looks like they got in a fight with the pavement and lost. But that isn’t Adam’s fault. Usually, when his face was messed up, he could cover it (badly) with concealer, and Poppy either wouldn’t notice, or wouldn’t comment, but, he couldn’t, or didn’t want to, put makeup on over still open wounds. So.

 

It isn’t Poppy’s fault either, he knows that, but he’s still mad at her. He had tried to explain that he needed to work today, that if he wasn’t working he wasn’t earning and he needed the money. She had made plenty of sympathetic noises, but she had still sent him off home again. 

 

Adam supposes that she assumes what would be true of probably most other boys in his position. That he’s only desperate for the money because he’s saving up for a new ipod or something. That he got in a fight with some kid from school. That his parents will be pissed off at him, but ultimately forgiving of him coming back from work early, empty handed. 

 

He knows, also, that there is no point in putting off going home. The later home he is with the same problem, the bigger the problem will look to his parents. They will want to know what he was doing if he wasn’t working. Crying, or, not crying, on the side of the road would not suffice as an explanation. He’s already in their bad books, which is evident, at least to him, by the mess of his face and the ache in his body. He’d been let go from a small shop he did weekend work in in town because the owner was the uncle of some other kid at Mountain View high, and family comes first and Adam comes second. Which is fair. Again, not his fault, the owner had told him very plainly that Adam was a better worker and a better investment than his nephew, but family will out, and so therefore must Adam. That was not what his parents believed, however, and his father at the very least had made that very clear. 

 

-

 

He’s turned away from the road. Doesn’t want to watch the cars zip past, certain there will be people ogling him. He thinks that if he can’t see them then there is a hope they won’t recognise him. They shouldn’t, it’s not like he stands out much except when he’s covered in bruises. The problem with this, is that, being turned away from the road means that his deaf ear is closest to the road. Which in turn, means that Adam does not hear the car pulling off the road and crunching in the gravel to park near him. Or, he does, but in a distant far off kind of way in which it could have been happening a hundred metres down the road, or across the road, and not right behind his bike. 

 

What he does hear is the voice calling out to him. 

 

“Hey,” it says, sounding somehow brash and uncertain at once, “you ok?” 

 

Adam startles, drops his hands from his face. Doesn’t turn around. 

 

“Yeah,” he says to the dusty fields in front of him. 

 

“You come off your bike?” the person says. 

 

Adam sniffs a little, shuffles round on his ass to eye the newcomer up. It’s a boy. Or, well, he looks to be about the same age as Adam, but Adam doesn’t really count other teenagers as his age because they don’t know shit about shit. He looks to be an Aglionby brat, though of course  he isn’t wearing a uniform to clarify this because it’s the summer holidays. His expensively ripped jeans and brand sneakers are enough to scream it though. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam grunts. Nods at his bike, about a metre away from where he sat, “landed on my face.” 

 

He had, actually, crashed his bike. Not as badly as his face probably makes it out to be. He’d just hit a small rock on the side of the road. It hadn’t thrown him, just unsteadied him, but it had been enough to tip his dangerously whirling emotions right over until he had thrown his bike to one side and himself to the other so as not to cause a bigger accident by trying to bike in traffic while fucking crying. 

 

“You did that to your face coming off your bike?” The boy asks. 

 

Adam nods. 

 

“You didn’t,” the boy says then, “there’s no blood. And that bruising isn't fresh.” 

 

“If you knew I didn’t,” Adam snaps, “why the hell would you ask if I did?” 

 

“I wanted to see what you’d say,” the boy replies easily, “what did happen to your face?” 

 

“None of your business,” Adam says, “what do you want?” 

 

“I wanted to see if you were ok,” the boy says. He had crossed his arms at Adam’s snapping, but was unfolding them now to shove his hands into his back pockets. “You looked pretty fucking pathetic all curled up on the side of the road like that. Thought I should check you hadn’t broken something.” 

 

“Well I didn’t,” Adam says. He wants to turn around, close his eyes, ignore this stupid stranger, and just nap in the prickly grass until evening fell and he could just dissolve into the darkness and never have to go back to his  _ house _ . “So you can go,” Adam adds. 

 

The boy doesn’t go. 

 

“Is your bike ok?” he asks instead, “Will you be able to ride it wherever you were going?” 

 

Adam glances at his bike again. The front wheel was twisted. It had been for a while and he had been biking reasonably well on it. It was a little more twisted than it usually was, thanks to the rock, but he thinks it’ll still work ok. 

 

“Wasn’t going anywhere,” he grumbles instead, “got nowhere to go.” 

 

He’s well aware he’s simply adding to his pathetic look, right now, appearing placeless, possibly homeless, in front of a stranger. He doesn’t care. He’ll never see this boy again. He’s a little out of town so no-one else is seeing him like this. It’s whatever. He looks past the boy at the car parked by the road instead. A BMW. Definitely an Aglionby bastard. 

 

“Well,” the boy is saying, “you look pretty fucked up, right now. Your bruises might not be from coming off your bike, but you’re pretty fucking scruffed up from it. I live five minutes from here. I could give you a lift to mine so you could get washed up and get you something for the swelling on your face, if you want.” 

 

Adam frowns heavily at the BMW, then turns his head to look slowly at the boy. 

 

“Who are you?” he asks. 

 

The boy shrugs. “Lynch,” he says, “and you?” 

 

It’s obviously a power move. Aglionby boy posturing. Adam has to think carefully about how to respond. It’s obvious that  _ Lynch _ sees himself as above Adam, which is why he’s giving him his surname. If Adam replies with his surname, either the boy will think that maybe Adam is an equal, or maybe he’ll think Adam is trying too hard and think him even more pathetic. If Adam replies with his given name, than he’s admitting his surname has no power, or, he’s showing he doesn’t play games. Maybe this boy isn’t playing games. Maybe Adam’s just paranoid. 

 

“Adam,” Adam replies, “Parrish.” 

 

“Well, Adam Parrish,” Lynch says, holds out one rough looking hand to him. His wrists are strung with worn leather bands that are at complete odds with the expensive look of the rest of his clothes, “get up. Just looking at your face makes me sore.” 

 

Adam, despite himself, takes Lynch’s hand, lets himself be dragged up onto his feet. 

 

“Why?” Adam asks. Looks at the BMW again. 

 

“Because,” Lynch says, letting go of Adam’s hand quickly, as if touching it had burned, “my mama raised me to be a nice boy, and sometimes I like to pretend I am. Plus, honestly, I fucking swear my cheeks feel like they’re swelling up just being in proximity with you.” 

 

Adam wipes his hand on the seat of his pants. He’s not sure if he’s trying to rid himself of rich boy touch, or if he’s trying to rid his hands of the dirt that had so obviously offended Lynch. He doesn’t say anything. 

 

“We can put your bike in my car,” Lynch continues, already stepping over to where Adam’s bike is lying, and lifting it up easily, “I’ll give you a lift back to wherever you weren’t going after if you like, seeing as the bike looks a bit fucked.” He half wheels, half hefts the bike over to  the side of his car, and then turns to look at Adam who hasn’t moved at all. “Coming?” 

 

Adam can’t defend his reasoning behind getting into the car with Lynch. There is none. Except that he is tired, and sore, and upset, and he doesn’t want to go home, and he is going to get in trouble when he goes home whenever he goes home so who the hell cares if he gets in more trouble. This Aglionby boy is offering him a seemingly serious ride in a fast car, and Adam really, really wants to get to just sit in this fast car and close his eyes and pretend it’s his. He gets in the car. Drops his bag into the footwell. There’s a takeaway bag from Poppy’s in the backseat. The whole car smells like cinnamon doughnuts. He does the seatbelt up. Lynch puts his bike in the back of the car, comes round and gets in behind the wheel. Adam can feel him looking at him even though his eyes are shut. He doesn’t want to have to watch Lynch stare at all his bruises. 

 

“I recognise you,” Lynch says then, and if Adam’s eyes were open, he would have shut them at this point. 

 

“Right,” Adam mumbles, “so tell me, Lynch. Where do you recognise me from?” 

 

He opens his eyes in time to see Lynch shrugging. 

 

“From Poppy’s,” he says, “I - uh - I see you there a lot. My family went there a lot.” 

 

“I don’t recognise you,” Adam says blandly. 

 

Lynch shrugs, “We used to go Sundays. I’d always be in a suit.” 

 

A lot of churchgoers came in to Poppy’s after church on Sundays. She did a half price lunch special. Adam shrugs. “I don’t recognise you,” he repeats.

 

Lynch’s expression is blank while he says; “Also saw you leave it today. Already bruised up. So, I mean, your bike excuse wasn’t gonna fly even if I didn’t know how bruises work.” 

 

“So what?” Adam snaps. He wants to get out of the car, but the seats are ridiculously comfortable. “Why are you even telling me this? What do you get out of it?” 

 

“Nothing,” Lynch says, starts the car up, “just thought you’d like to know.” 

 

Adam shrugs. He wants to want to tell Lynch that he’s getting out. He doesn’t. Lynch pulls back onto the road. 

 

The drive to Lynch’s is indeed only five minutes, but Adam is surprised it only takes that long because the change in scenery is astronomical. It goes from nice enough I suppose, to holy crap was that a waterfall, are we still in Henrietta? 

 

He might have said the last part out loud because Lynch laughs and says; “No. Technically we’re in Singer Falls now. And that doesn’t count as a waterfall, that’s more like a - a hill leak. I could show you real waterfalls round here sometime if you like.” 

 

That sounds like a dangerous offer. So, as not to appear as unhinged as he currently feels, Adam doesn’t take it. He doesn’t turn it down either. He just sits in the passenger seat of an almost certainly rich as shit stranger and allows himself to be driven up a windy driveway while some sort of ear bleeding music plays all around them. He’s almost thankful that he’s half deaf. 

 

They pull up outside a cluster of barns, and Lynch grins at him, reaches into the back seat to grab the doughnuts, and then opens the car door. 

 

“C’mon,” he says, “I need to deliver these and then I’ll hose you off ‘round back.” 

 

Adam hopes this is a joke. He can feel his face stiffening even as he undoes his seatbelt and climbs out his side of the car. Lynch is leaning on top of the roof of the BMW, watching him over it. 

 

“I was kidding,” he says, “you can have a full on shower if you want, but I was just gonna give you a flannel and water.” 

 

Adam shrugs. 

 

Lynch leads them around the side of the barn to a tractor with a pair of floral gumbooted feet sticking out from under it. 

 

“Mum?” he asks the gumboots. 

 

“Ronan?” The gumboots reply, and then a woman is tugging herself out from underneath the tractor, standing up in the cracked dirt, and grinning at Ronan. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she is very grubby. “Sorry, baby,” she says, “I didn’t hear you arrive, I was concentrating.” 

 

“Did you find out what’s wrong with it?” Lynch, or, Ronan, Adam supposes, asks. He’s holding out the bag of doughnuts to his mother. 

 

“No,” his mother sighs mournfully, taking the doughnuts and then leaning in to kiss Ronan on the cheek, “I’m gonna have to call someone up to take it into town to get it properly checked out.” 

 

Adam isn’t sure if it is fate, his damn manners, or just stupidity that makes him move his mouth then. 

 

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he says, stepping forwards a little so he’s not just lurking by the corner of the barn, “I’m a mechanic. I could take a look at it for you if you wanna tell me what the problem is.” 

 

Ronan’s mother jumps a little, looks at Adam, and then back to Ronan. 

 

“Ro,” she says, “you didn’t say you’d brought a friend with you!” 

 

Adam opens his mouth to say he isn’t a friend. Ronan looks like he’s about to do the same. His mother beats them both to it. She shoves the bag of doughnuts back at Ronan, and approaches Adam, hand outstretched. 

 

“Aurora,” she says brightly, “Ronan’s mum. That was a very kind offer of you to look at the tractor! What can I call you?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, “it’s Adam. Adam Parrish, ma’am. And I’m perfectly happy to have a look if you’d like. I can’t say for sure I could fix it but I’d give it a go.” 

 

“It’s very nice to meet you Adam,” Aurora says. She’s smiling, but she’s also staring at his bruises. “Ronan didn’t do this to you, did he?” she asks next, still holding onto his hand. 

 

Adam blanches. He’s reasonably certain Ronan is as well. 

 

“No, ma’am,” he says, “no. These were - I came off my bike. Caught the fall with my face. Your son - Ly- uh - Ronan here saw me and offered to let me get cleaned up here.” 

 

“Oh,” Aurora says, her smile brightening again, “I’m pleased. Not pleased about your face. Well. Listen, you go get cleaned up, and then, I would love for you to have a look at the tractor. I’ll pay you fifty dollars to take a look at it.” 

 

Adam blanches again. Aurora is still holding his hand. 

 

“Uh, ma’am,” he says. 

 

“Aurora,” Aurora says. 

 

“Aurora,” Adam says, clears his throat, “you don’t need to pay me. I offered.” 

 

“You said you were a mechanic,” Aurora tells him, “I pay mechanics.” 

 

Adam clears his throat again. He looks to Ronan, as if that stranger could help him out with this stranger. Ronan is staring out over the horizon. Not even looking in their direction. 

 

“Alright,” Adam says, “but I may as well look at it first and then get cleaned up.” 

 

“Alright,” Aurora agrees, “I’m going to get cleaned up now then. Ronan will help you. Good to meet you, Adam.” 

 

Adam stumbles over the responding pleasantries, and Aurora returns to Ronan to fetch her doughnuts, to kiss him on the cheek again, and then sweeps off towards another building which Adam had assumed was another barn, but on a closer look proved to be a house. She’s ridiculously elegant. Like an elf. A dirty elf. 

 

When he turns back to Ronan, Ronan is looking at him. Then pointing at his face. 

 

“That,” he says clearly, “I don’t do that. Mum’s - I haven’t done that kind of shit in a long time.” 

 

Adam frowns at him, then shrugs. He doesn’t know what  he’s meant to make of Aurora’s immediate suspicion of her own son, but he doesn’t think he wants to try and make anything of it anyway. It’s not his business. 

 

“Ok,” he says, “do you know what problems your mum’s been having with the tractor?” 

 

Ronan tells him as much as he can while Adam sits himself down in the dirt and shuffles his way underneath the machine. The problem is obvious immediately, and Adam sighs, stops listening to Ronan, because he doesn’t need no rich boy telling him what he  _ thinks _ is wrong with a vehicle when Adam can see it. Instead he holds his hand out into the open air to catch Ronan’s attention and says; 

 

“I can see the problem. Do you have a toolkit anywhere? I need pliers, a screwdriver, and a spanner.” 

 

“Uh,” Ronan says, “yeah, yeah. Dad always kept a kit under the seat. Hang on,” he says. Adam can feels the tractor shaking a little as Ronan climbs up onto it, clunks around a little bit, and then hops off again. 

 

Adam doesn’t push himself out from under the tractor, just keeps his hand outstretched, and Ronan presses the small cool metal box into his hands. 

 

It’s an easy fix. An easy problem and an easy fix, and he can guarantee that if they had taken it into town to be fixed they would have been charged an arm and a leg because the mechanics in town know how to spot gullible rich people a mile off. 

 

When he pushes himself out from under it, he’s almost surprised to see Ronan sitting in the dirt opposite him, leaning against the barn wall. His eyes are closed but he seems aware that Adam is back in the open. 

 

“You’re getting your hundred dollar jeans dirty,” Adam says, and Ronan’s eyes flick open, then closed again. 

 

“They cost three hundred,” he says. 

 

Adam has been having a very exhausting week. Adam has been having a very bad day. Adam is tired, and sore, and sweaty, and really fucking hungry, and he does not see any reason why he shouldn’t find Ronan’s comment entirely infuriating and downright disgusting. He laughs. Ronan opens his eyes again and grins at him. 

 

“I fixed the tractor,” Adam says once he calms himself down. Ronan looks at him, then up at the tractor, “it was easy. I don’t need payment.” 

 

“You try telling my mum that,” Ronan says, “it’s really fixed?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, pulls himself upright, and then up onto the tractor. 

 

He hasn’t driven one before, but he knows the basics seeing as he’s worked on them in the shop. He turns it on, without even a sputter, and now Ronan laughs. He waits until Adam’s turned the tractor off again, and then holds out a hand to help Adam down. Adam’s hands are far dirtier than they had been by the side of the road. He pretends to have not seen the hand, jumps down on the other side to Ronan. 

 

“I’ll take you inside,” Ronan says, walking around the tractor, “did you want a shower?” 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I don’t have any clothes to get into and there’s no point in showering if I’m just going to put my dirty clothes back on.” 

 

“You can borrow some of my clothes,” Ronan offers, already walking to his house, trusting Adam to follow behind him. 

 

He offers this as if it’s a normal thing to offer a stranger your clothes. Like it’s a thing he does on the regular. Or, like he and Ronan were good friends and share clothes all the time. Like this isn’t an odd situation. 

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Adam says. 

 

Ronan kicks his sneakers off in the doorway of the house, holds the door open while Adam undoes his own shoes carefully and puts them neatly to one side. He can’t kick his shoes off for fear of kicking them apart. He feels stupidly bitter about this being a thing he has to be cautious of. 

 

“Anyway,” Adam says as Ronan shuts the door behind them, enveloping them in a well air conditioned house, “your mum’s in the shower right now. Isn’t she?” 

 

Ronan snorts, “yeah,” he says, “she’s in her shower probably. We have more than one shower, man.” 

 

Of course. Rich shits. That’s right. 

 

“Right,” Adam says. 

 

“You’re not thinking about my mum in the shower, are you?” Ronan adds on then, sharply. He’d walked a little way away towards a staircase, but had stopped and spun around to look at Adam, grasping onto the banister. 

 

Adam hadn’t been. Now he almost couldn’t help it. “No,” he says, “don’t be gross.” 

 

Ronan grins at him in a way which makes Adam feel like he’s being teased. He doesn’t like it. 

 

“Have a shower,” Ronan says, has started climbing the stairs, two at a time, “I’ll lend you some clothes. You’re a bit skinny but I’ve probably got some shit that’ll fit you.” 

 

This is where Adam ought to protest. Well. No. He ought to have protested back at the side of the road. He ought to have protested outside by the tractor. He ought to have not set foot inside this beautiful cool house that smells like flowers and freshly cut grass and what home smells like in Adam’s imagination. He follows Ronan upstairs. 

 

The walls are cluttered with frames. Some of childish drawings, either done by Ronan or some unknown sibling. Some are awards, certificates, diplomas. All made out to various Lynches. Some are family photos. A photo at the top of the staircase has Aurora in the middle, three children clustered around her. Unknown siblings. 

 

“Gawking?” Ronan asks, “They’re not interesting.” 

 

“I’m not,” Adam says, “just - never seen so many family photos on a wall before.” 

 

“Mum likes them,” Ronan says. He’s stepping down the hallway, flicking a light switch as he does, “bathroom’s just here,” he adds, stepping through a doorway. 

 

Adam follows him in. Ronan is perched on the bathroom counter, opening cupboards. This bathroom is possibly as big as Adam’s entire fucking house. There’s a bath. There’s a shower. They’re separate. 

 

“We’ve got plasters and bruise cream and cooling gel and shit like that in here,” Ronan is saying, pulling said items out of the cupboards and littering them on the counter around him, “probably have whatever else you might want downstairs too if it’s not here.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam says. “I usually just rub it down with water.” 

 

Ronan closes the cupboard. The cupboard door is a mirror, and Ronan frowns into it, straight at Adam. “I’ll get you a towel,” he says, still looking at Adam through the mirror. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

He’s left alone then, in a stupidly large bathroom. He has no idea what he’s doing here, except that he is absolutely going to use as much of that bruise cream as he possibly can because fucking hell and damn, anything to make his face look vaguely normal again as soon as possible. 

 

Ronan returns a few minutes later. He’s got a towel that looks big enough to be a sheet in one hand, and a handful of soft looking clothing in the other. 

 

“Your legs look longer than mine,” Ronan says, “so I grabbed you sweatpants so it wouldn’t look so dumb. Help yourself to any shit in the shower. I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen.” 

 

Before Adam can bring himself to respond to this, Ronan is gone again. 

 

Absolutely nothing is making sense. Adam isn’t sure how he is supposed to be responding to any of this because this is thoroughly out of the realm of things he does. Just the idea of stripping naked and showering in a stranger’s house is out of the realm of his imagination. But. The shower is large, and Adam bets they have tons of hot water, and that the water pressure is amazing. And he hasn’t washed his hair with anything more expensive than  dollar shop brand since that time he helped out cleaning in a now shut down hair salon and one new lady practiced on him. That was already years ago now, though. And. There’s no point in putting bruise cream on such dirty skin. So. He locks the bathroom door, and that in itself is exciting because the lock on the bathroom door back at the trailer that was his house had been broken since he was a toddler. He gets undressed, slowly, folds his clothes, puts them on a bench that appears to be specifically for clothes. Puts the bath mat down on the ground, and turns the shower on. 

 

He thinks he might be in heaven. 

 

This house. 

 

The air conditioning is cool, the water is hot, the doors fucking lock. 

 

He wants to stay in the shower until he’s washed down the drain. Or until he’s so wrinkly his skin just gives up and falls off. He uses the body wash in the shower rack, and it smells more expensive than Ronan’s entire outfit. He feels like he may as well be washing with dollar bills seeing as how much money it is he’s washing down the drain alongside his dirt. He’s not sure whether he ought to feel guilty about it, or smug about it. That he, someone who has been scrimping and saving all his life and still doesn’t have enough money to get the hell out of this town, is using the cosmetics and luxury of someone who is obviously so wealthy they offer random boys fifty dollars for the task of looking at a tractor. 

 

He feels guilty. 

 

-

 

When he makes his way downstairs, he feels like his skin is softer than it has ever been. He probably came out of the womb more weathered than he feels right now. Ronan’s clothes are a little short on him, and a little wide - thank goodness for drawstrings - but they’re soft and comfortable. He smells of moss and mint and antiseptic, and his bruises might still be obvious and overwhelming and aching but he feels better about them. 

 

He had mildly worried that it would be difficult to find the kitchen that Ronan had mentioned, that he would end up wandering through the house and get lost and some other family member or butler would find him and eviscerate him for robbing them or something. 

 

The smell of baking and coffee leads him straight to it. He comes down the staircase, pauses, turns left, walks down the hallway, and pushes at the first door. 

 

Aurora is in there, standing by the stove dealing with a stovetop coffee pot. Ronan is by her side, sitting on the counter like he’d done in the bathroom. He has a mixing bowl on his lap and he’s kneading whatever is inside vigorously, flour all up his arms and on his shirt. 

 

“Um,” Adam says from the doorway. He doesn’t want to intrude, but, he needs his bike from Ronan’s car so he can get home to face his father’s wrath, and he needs to thank the Lynch’s for getting him cleaner than he has been for years. “Excuse me?” 

 

“Oh,” Aurora says, turning away from the stove only a moment to smile at Adam. “Adam, please do come in, take a seat. On the counter if you’re a gremlin like Ronan, or on the stool if you’d prefer. Ro was just telling me about how quickly you fixed the tractor, I’m so grateful for your help!” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, because that seems fitting. He walks hesitantly into the room. Part of him wants to be a gremlin. He sits on the stool behind the counter instead, and Ronan swivels a little on the counter so he isn’t sitting with his back to Adam. “You’re welcome,” Adam says, tries not to mumble it. “But it was my pleasure. And. You’ve already repaid me enough by letting me wash off here, so -” 

 

“Ridiculous,” Aurora says briskly. She’s whisking the coffee off of the stove, turning the stove off, taking the mixing bowl from Ronan, and turning to the the cupboards. “Do you like coffee, Adam?” 

 

“Yeah?” Adam says. 

 

“Black?” Aurora asks, grabbing three mugs and putting them on the counter. 

 

“Sure,” Adam says. 

 

“Ronan,” Aurora says, pouring coffee, “get me the milk, and the money for our speedy mechanic here.” 

 

Adam opens his mouth to protest, but Aurora is glancing a look over her shoulder at him and he shuts his mouth again. 

 

Ronan hands his mother the milk, also sugar - which she tsks at - and then turns to Adam, a small leather wallet in hand. 

 

“The amount I told you,” Aurora tells him, adding milk to two of the coffees, sugar to one, and Ronan reaches into the wallet and pulls out a crisp hundred dollar note. 

 

“I don’t have change,” Adam blurts out. Ronan rolls his eyes. 

 

“You don’t need change,” Aurora tells him, stepping towards the counter with coffee in each hand, “that’s the total I’m giving you.” 

 

“You said fifty, ma’am,” Adam protests. 

 

“I said fifty to look at it,” Aurora corrects, puts a milky looking coffee down in front of him. “You fixed it as well. So one hundred. I know you said sure to black coffee but you didn’t sound sure so I added milk as well. There’s sugar too, if you want it.” 

 

“I don’t, thank you,” Adam says, opens his mouth to protest the money more, but Aurora again, cuts in. 

 

“See, Ro,” she says, elbowing her son gently in the side as she hands him his milky (and sugary, apparently) coffee, “sugar isn’t a coffee essential.” 

 

“It is if you don’t like suffering,” Ronan mumbles. 

 

“Ma’am,” Adam says, can hear his voice cracking, “I can’t - I  _ can’t _ take this money from you.” 

 

Ronan, when Adam hadn’t immediately taken the note, had put it down on the counter in front of Adam, and now it was just staring accusingly up at him. He worked for less than seven dollars an hour in most places. He had worked on the tractor for less than half an hour. That made this… about… about 2850% more than he usually made. That was absolutely absurd. 

 

“Adam,” Aurora says. She’s bending over the counter on the other side of the kitchen now (because of course this kitchen has surplus counter), and is rolling out the dough that Ronan had been kneading. “You’re saving me money. If I had to take that tractor into town I was going to need to hire someone to tow it out, seeing as our only vehicle capable of towing is also broken, and that would have cost a good fifty. Then, I would have to smile my way through someone explaining the problem to me as complicated as they can possibly phrase it so I have no chance of understanding, and then, they would likely charge me about a hundred for some godforsaken part which they apparently don’t make anymore, and only then, would they charge me for the time and work put on it.”

 

Having worked in and for a garage for a large chunk of his life, Adam knows that this is true. He still doesn’t feel great about taking the money though. 

 

“I could fix your other broken vehicle,” Adam says to the counter, “maybe. I don’t know what’s wrong with it so I can’t promise anything, but - this is a lot of money for not a lot of work, so, I could take a look at anything else broken as well if you want -” 

 

“Maybe another day,” Aurora says, “take the money, Adam, and the coffee, and you and Ronan go  _ hang _ or whatever it is you kids do, I’m going to put my baking playlist on and I need peace.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, “right, sorry, yes ma’am.” 

 

Ronan scoffs at him. 

 

“Don’t trip up on your manners,” Ronan says, “let’s go to the lounge.” 

 

Adam wants to point out that he could just go. That he’s overstayed already. He picks up the money. Picks up his coffee. Follows Ronan. 

 

-

 

He can’t even say what they talked about. They talked about nothing. Just shit. Just Ronan saying more and more ridiculous things until Adam got bored of being polite about it and started shit talking back, and then Ronan started laughing, and Adam started laughing, and it built on that. 

 

He blames it on how tired he is. On how odd this situation is. Because Ronan is still a stranger. Because he’s still sitting in a stranger’s house. He doesn’t feel comfortable. Not exactly. It’s more like he feels like, well, this is happening, so it may as well happen. At least when Aurora invites him to stay for dinner he has enough control to turn her politely down. He can’t step that far over his boundaries, even if he feels wild and ridiculous today. Ronan, like he said he would, drives him home. 

 

-

 

“Just park here,” Adam says at the end of the long driveway that led into the trailer park, “this is fine.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, parks smoothly. He also cuts the engine, which is a surprise. This was meant to be a drop and run. 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, because, now he’s so close back to home, all his (vaguely) easy acceptance of the unknown was gone. He had felt it seeping out of him the closer they got, had felt the melancholy already come back simply as he got into Ronan’s car. Now he was right at the edges of where he lived, he felt hardened and stiff. “Thanks.” 

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Ronan says, “it’s fine. God.” 

 

“Hm,” Adam says. Glances down at himself. “Look, I - I can - I can bike out to yours to drop your clothes back off sometime over the week. So, you don’t need to worry about that. I can leave them in your letterbox. In a plastic bag, of course. And washed. Obviously.” 

 

“Oi,” Ronan snorts, “Why the fuck are you talking to me like I’m a stranger?” 

 

Adam looks at him. 

 

“You are,” he points out. “We’re strangers.” 

 

“You got naked in my bathroom,” Ronan points out right back, “we’ve just spent the afternoon drinking coffee and telling fart jokes. I don’t think we’re strangers.” 

 

Adam doesn’t know what to say to this. He doesn’t need to say anything, because Ronan keeps talking. 

 

“If you feel so much like we’re strangers,” he says brusquely, “than we can fucking change that. You said you’d fix the truck. Don’t just drop my clothes off in the letterbox. Come ‘round. Fix the truck. I’ll play you good music seeing as all you listen to is radio garbage. My mum would like to see you again.” 

 

“Why,” Adam says. “Why do you want to not be strangers?” 

 

Ronan is looking at him as if he’d just asked something stupid. As if he’d just suggested they dye themselves orange and run for president. 

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Ronan asks. 

 

Adam can see absolutely nothing obvious here. Nothing. Can’t even begin to comprehend what Ronan might be referring to. He shrugs. 

 

“You’re an asshole,” Ronan snorts, “fine. Whatever. Why? Because I want to. Ok? Is that enough? You can say no. You can hop the fuck out of here and never see me again, if you want. That’s fine. That’s whatever. You don’t need to do any of this. You didn’t need to. I didn’t force you into my car, or to my house, or to laugh. You can chose to stop here if you want.” 

 

“Some of the laughter was forced,” Adam mumbles, “you have a terrible sense of humour. I didn’t want to offend you.” 

 

Ronan laughs at him. 

 

“Get out of here,” he says. 

 

“Whatever,” Adam replies. He unbuckles himself, grabs his bag from the footwell, gets out, goes around the back to get his bike out from the boot. Ronan clicks the boot open for him. He grabs his bike, hefts it out, wheels it around to Ronan’s window. 

 

“Can I have your number?” Ronan asks. He’s leaning out of his window, head and shoulders, face dark in the evening shadows. 

 

“I don’t have a phone,” Adam replies, refuses to let himself be embarrassed about this, “if you give me your number, though,” he adds, “I can ring you from work sometime.” 

 

“God,” Ronan says, “I hate phone calls.” 

 

Adam opens his mouth to take it all back, as sarcastically as he can muster, but then Ronan is reaching across his dashboard, grabbing a pen, and then reaching out the window and grabbing Adam’s arm. He flinches hard, because being grabbed is very rarely a good thing, and Ronan pauses, drawing back. 

 

“You don’t have any paper?” Adam asks, wants to smooth this over with something easily explainable. 

 

“You could throw away paper,” Ronan says. 

 

“I could also wash my hand,” Adam points out. 

 

“Do you want me to write it on some paper?” Ronan asks. 

 

Adam considers it. Then he tugs up the sleeve on his (Ronan’s) shirt, to reveal his forearm. “Not on my hand,” he says, “write it here.” 

 

Ronan writes his phone number, handwriting loopy and odd, but thankfully readable, and then blows on Adam’s skin to dry the ink before pulling the sleeve back down. It tingles and tickles and chills Adam right to his bones, despite the summer heat in the evening darkness. 

 

“You’ll call?” Ronan asks. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, clears his throat, readjusts his hold on his bike, “soon. I guess. To figure out when to come ‘round to fix the truck.” 

 

“I’ll be home and free every fucking day for the next fortnight,” Ronan says, “so whenever is good for me. You can just drop by whenever, you know. If you call though, I could come pick you up. It’s a long way to bike.” 

 

“Night, Lynch,” Adam says. 

 

“Bye,” Ronan replies. 

 

-

 

There is no drama when Adam gets home, because he’s been out for as long as expected, and because now he doesn’t need to tell them his shift got cancelled because he made money anyway. They don’t have to know where the money came from. He just has to give them the total they expect at the end of the week and everything will be fine. 

 

There’s no drama, but there’s also no dinner, and so, Adam gets home, does his chores for his father, and goes straight to bed. Usually he takes a quick shower before bed, but he’s so clean he feels like just getting naked in the bathroom here will make him dirtier. 

 

Once he’s under his covers, light off, door shut, his afternoon feels like a dream. Not in a soppy soft lighting kind of way, but in a, he’s not a hundred percent sure it happened, way. It had felt so unreal while it was happening, and now that he’s back in his uncomfortable reality, it feels more unreal to think about it. 

 

He was having a bad day and a strange, good looking,  _ rough _ looking boy who acts like he knows him takes him in and makes him feel like he’s worth something. Worth a hundred bucks, to be precise. It doesn’t sound like something that happens to real people, and it certainly doesn’t sound like something that happens to the grungy, bottom of the barrel real people that Adam came from. If it wasn’t for the numbers written in purple vivid on Adam’s arm, he would have been vaguely worried his father had concussed him and it had finally caught up with Adam in the form of hallucination. The purple vivid and the hundred dollar note carefully stashed away under his bed, that is. 

 

He’d transferred the number from his arm to his notebook, writing it out carefully and slowly because if he somehow misread it or wrote it wrong, there was not going to be a second chance. He doesn’t wash it off immediately after for the same reason. Even if Ronan was kidding about not being strangers. Even if Adam can never work up the courage to call the number. Adam wants the proof that something almost… magical happened to him. Something beautiful. Something that means he still smells like freshness and mist and plants. 

  
  


-

  
  


He waits almost a full week before he calls Ronan. He doesn’t want to look like he has no life, which, while true socially, is very untrue work wise. He may be technically on summer holiday, but he has work every day of the week, often from dawn to dusk, and he isn’t very free. But. He’s got the afternoon off today. His parents don’t want him home. He can do whatever he likes. Usually whatever he likes means he takes a couple of dollars from his “spending jar” (cash he finds on the sidewalks, and tips from the mechanics), and heads to Nino’s for a coke that’s actually carbonated and a chance to smile at Blue. 

 

Blue is someone who is almost a friend. They have a few classes together, and while they don’t talk in class (either because Adam doesn’t really talk to anyone, or because Blue doesn’t really talk to anyone, or because Blue doesn’t like him enough to), she’ll often stop by his table and ask him about assignments, or his opinion on a teacher, or to complain about Aglionby boys. It’s all small talk, but, it’s as close as Adam is to anyone, so, it feels like more. He’s often thought that he wants it to be more, but that means time and effort he isn’t sure he has, isn’t sure he can commit himself to. 

 

Ronan’s phone rings seven times. Adam is just about to hang up. To call it a day. To call back maybe the next time he had a free afternoon. Then Ronan answers. 

 

“Adam Parrish?” he asks. 

 

Adam laughs. 

 

He’s had a hard time with recognising voices eve since the accident that had deafened him in one ear. It’s just a small thing, and it’s usually fine because he doesn’t call people often. If he can see the person as well as hear them it’s fine. If it’s someone he’s known for a long time, it’s fine. He recognises Ronan’s voice immediately. He thinks, it’s not because it’s a very distinctive voice, although it is a nice voice, low and a little musical maybe, if he wants to be poetic about it. It’s because it’s surprising. It’s because this voice has mainly said surprising things to Adam. He can’t help but recognise it because it makes his stomach jump a little. Surprise. 

 

“It is Adam, yeah?” Ronan says when Adam doesn’t reply properly. He sounds a little suspicious. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “hi. I was just about to hang up.” 

 

“I told you I don’t like phone calls,” Ronan says, “I only answered because I thought it might be you.” 

 

“What would you have done if it wasn’t me?” Adam asks. He should cut the small talk. He’s in Boyd’s office using Boyd’s phone, and he has permission yes, but he doesn’t like taking up too much time. 

 

“I’d have hung up,” Ronan says, “ain’t nobody got time for that.” 

 

“Whatever,” Adam says, “hey, look, I know this is short notice, but I’m free this afternoon. I was thinking I could come take a look at your mum’s truck?” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “huh, you know? I was thinking you were just gonna never call, and now you wanna come over?” 

 

“I don’t have to,” Adam says. 

 

“Fuck that,” Ronan says, “where are you?” 

 

“Work.”    
  


“Poppy’s?” 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I have more than one job. Boyd’s.” 

 

“Boyd’s?” Ronan asks, he sounds weird. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “it’s a mechanics. A couple of blocks from Aglionby, actually.” 

 

“Yeah, I know,” Ronan says, “I’m fucking parked outside.” 

 

“You what?” Adam asks. 

 

“I’m parked out the fuck side,” Ronan repeats, “I fucking swear I’m not stalking you.” 

 

“Holy shit,” Adam says. He’s peering through the blinds covering the window, out at the street front of Boyd’s. He can indeed see Ronan’s dark BMW. The hell. “What are you doing then? If you’re not stalking me?” 

 

“I was driving,” Ronan says, “going home. I parked to answer my phone.” 

 

“That shit can’t be a coincidence,” Adam says. 

 

“So,” Ronan says, “you’re free this afternoon? Wanna ride to mine?” 

 

“I still have half an hour left of work,” Adam says, “I can’t come right now. I was gonna bike out.” 

 

“Don’t be a fuckass,” Ronan snorts, “I can wait.” 

 

“Half an hour, Lynch,” Adam repeats. 

 

“Don’t be a fuckass,” Ronan repeats, slowly, “I can fucking wait.” 

 

“Whatever,” Adam says, “don’t blame me if you get bored.” 

 

“I will,” Ronan says. 

 

“Loser,” Adam says. “See you soon, I guess.” He hangs up. 

 

-

 

He half expects Ronan to be gone by the time he makes it outside. He also half expects Ronan to balk at Adams grease and oil stained and stinking self. 

 

Ronan and his BMW are still there; Ronan is leaning against his car door, phone pressed to his ear. He raised his eyebrows at Adam as he approaches, wheeling his bike alongside him,  but continues to talk into his cell. 

 

“I'm fine, Matty,” he says, voice a little low, “don't be stupid. It's only a few hours, God, chill, dude.” 

 

Adam leans against the side of the car next to Ronan, who shoots him a sidelong look but doesn't push him off or comment on the possible grease Adam might get on the paint of the car. Which is good, because the car is covered in mud anyway, so if Ronan complained, then Adam would be pissed. Ronan appears to be listening to this 'Matty’ dude for a few long seconds, eyes fluttering closed, before speaking again.

 

“I promise,” he says, and his voice has gone even lower, soft now. “Yeah. Whatever. See you later, okay?” 

 

He makes a noise, then ends the call and shoves his phone roughly into his back pocket before turning to Adam. 

 

“Hey,” he says, “let's fucking split.” 

 

They fucking split. Adam wrangles his bike back into the boot, chucks his bag in with it, and then gets into the front with Ronan. Ronan doesn't say anything, just turns the keys in the ignition, bringing the car to life abruptly, and peels out of his park onto the road. 

 

Adam thinks that maybe he ought to say something? But. Well. It’s easier to just sit here in silence and let Ronan speed them out of town. Silence, that is, until Ronan reaches blindly out to his stereo and turns a knob. Then it’s ear splitting screaming. Or, it’s possibly singing, if the singer had just had their vocal cords mutilated and was upset about it. 

 

“I don’t see how you think you’re going to improve my music taste when your music taste is absolute ass shit,” Adam yells at Ronan over the crashing of what he assumes is drums, not a washing machine being pushed down a staircase. He had to turn around a little in his seat so as to face Ronan to make sure that if Ronan answered, the words wouldn’t be lost to Adam’s deaf ear, caught up in the ‘music’ around them. 

 

Ronan laughs loudly. 

 

“Anything is better than whatever they play on popular radio,” Ronan yells back, “what musicians do you even know? Katy fucking Perry?” 

 

Adam shrugs expansively, hopes it’s a big enough movement for Ronan to see without having to look away from the road. “I don’t really listen to the radio anyway,” he yells back, feels his throat beginning to ache already, despite the fact that he’s barely started yelling. He supposes he’s too used to talking quietly. 

 

“Fucking sure,” Ronan screams back, apparently not having the same problem as Adam at all, “you work in a garage and a diner? Those are the two places most fucking likely to be playing popular radio drivel.” 

 

This is true. 

 

“I don’t listen,” Adam yells back. Clears his throat. Reaches out and turns Ronan’s music down. Ronan turns to look at him with an expression like Adam had just murdered his newborn. Adam isn’t sure if it’s about Adam not listening to the radio, or if it’s the music being turned down. He’s willing to bet it’s the latter, but he can’t keep yelling. 

 

“What’d you do that for?” Ronan asks, the latter then. 

 

“I couldn’t hear you,” Adam replies, immediately grateful for being able to say this at a normal volume level. 

 

“Why the hell would you want to hear me?” Ronan asks, “When you could be hearing my alternative death metal smash mash volume three?” 

 

“Yours?” Adam asks. 

 

“Not mine,” Ronan snorts, “my mix.” 

 

“Because,” Adam says, “I kinda need what hearing I have left.” 

 

“Whatever,” Ronan says, thankfully not picking up on the insight into Adam’s life that he hadn’t really meant to drop, “I’m not in a big talking mood right now, though.”

 

Well,” Adam says, “today’s gonna be fun.” 

 

Despite what Ronan had  _ just _ said, he immediately starts talking again. 

 

“Look,” he says, “just so you know, ‘cos I know you’re only coming over hoping to smooze up to my mum, she’s not home right now.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, “what a darn shame. Just drop me off right here, then, yeah?” 

 

“Asshole,” Ronan laughs. 

 

“You started it,” Adam replies, “where is she then?” 

 

“Picking my brothers up from the airport,” Ronan grunts. 

 

“Huh,” Adam says, the unknown siblings revealed. Kind of. “When will she be back, then?” 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, swerves not quite dangerously as he looks at Adam to pull a disgusted face, “you really are only coming over for her!” 

 

“Fuck off,” Adam says, surprising himself with his willingness to up his swearing in front of Ronan, “I wanna know if I have time to fix the truck and be gone before she gets back.” 

 

“Oh shit,” Ronan says, is still looking at Adam, somehow managing to keep the BMW straight, though, “you don’t like my mum?” 

 

“Oh my God, Lynch,” Adam groans, “you can’t have this both ways. I don’t want - I don’t want her trying to give me anymore money.” 

 

“What the fuck,” Ronan says, “you’re so fucking weird.” 

 

“So I’ve been told,” Adam says. 

 

Ronan is silent for a few moments, then he says; “she’s gonna be back in about four, maybe five hours. They’re having dinner in the city before coming back here.”

 

“How come you didn’t go, too, then?” Adam asks. 

 

“I don’t -” Ronan begins, clears his throat, “I don’t like to.” he says. The way he says it sounds like there’s a couple of books of mystery behind it, but also, that he doesn’t want to talk about it at all. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “where were your brothers, then?” 

 

“God,” Ronan says, “what is this? The Spanish Inquisition?” 

 

Adam rolls his eyes at him. 

 

It turns out that Ronan’s oldest brother, Declan, goes to university, and his youngest brother, Matthew (Matty?), was visiting him there for a couple of weeks, and that today, the both of them were coming back to Henrietta to spend the remainder of the summer holidays with their mother and Ronan at the Barns. Adam gathers that Ronan is vaguely pleased about this. Also vaguely unpleased about this. Either way, he ought to be able to fix the truck, hang out with Ronan for a bit, get to smell the homey smells of Ronan’s house, and then get home again before Ronan’s siblings and mother got home. 

 

They head straight to one of the barns when they get in, rather than going to the house first. Adam’s brought his tools specifically, and he wants to get a look at the truck sooner rather than later. Ronan shows him to it, explains briefly what the problem is, then leaves him to it. 

 

He isn’t actually expecting Ronan to come back, he’s planning on working on the truck and then going inside to find Ronan, and that’s fine, but Ronan comes back into the garage about ten minutes later. He pushes the door open loudly, the creaking letting Adam know that he wasn’t alone anymore, and then walked across the hay messy floor to the truck, and lightly kicked at one of Adam’s feet that was sticking out from under the truck. 

 

“I brought some coke,” Ronan says, “and chips.” 

 

“And terrible music?” Adam asks, squints at what he thinks the problem is. 

 

Ronan swears in amusement. “Nah,” he says, “‘cos you prefer talking, don’t you?” 

 

“Well,” Adam says, “I’m not really a fan of either, to be quite honest.” 

 

“God you’re so fucked,” Ronan sighs. Adam can hear him shuffling about. He thinks Ronan’s sat himself down on the ground, leaning against one of the dirty truck tires. “Do you live under a rock when you’re not working? Not listening to music, not talking. What do you even do with your life?” 

 

Adam snorts, because, well, Ronan’s kind of spot on. “I work almost all day every day,” Adam says, “so yeah, I guess I do live kind of under a rock. I mean. I get up, I go to work, I come home, I go to bed. So, under a blanket, maybe.” 

 

“The fuck,” Ronan says loudly, “how old are you? I thought you were my age?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, “I guess that depends on how old you are? I’m eighteen in a few months.” 

 

“You could just say, ‘I’m seventeen’, and leave it at that,” Ronan says, “I’m seventeen too. So. Ok. My age. Why the fuck are you working the same hours as a forty year old virgin, then?” 

 

“God,” Adam sighs, scrabbles at his side for the spanner he’d put there, and focuses for a few moments on the truck before replying to Ronan. “Money’s good,” he says eventually. Hopes it suffices. 

 

It doesn’t. 

 

“If money’s so good,” Ronan says shrewdly, he’s shifting again, jean studs scraping on concrete, “why the hell don’t you want my mum to pay you for the work you’re doing right now?” 

 

Adam exhales heavily. If he tips his head to the side and looks out from under the truck, he can see Ronan bending down looking in at him. 

 

“Because,” he says slowly, lifts his head back up so he doesn’t have to watch Ronan watching him, “because she pays me too much. I feel like I’m indebted to her now. I’m not working for free, right now, I’m working to make up for how much she gave me.” 

 

“That’s stupid,” Ronan replies immediately, “mum paid you how much you’d earned.” 

 

“Maybe she’d have paid less than that at the mechanics in town,” Adam says brusquely, “but that’s because she’d be paying for the time of more than one person, for the use of tools, the space, and a little extra so the garage makes a profit. If she was really paying me how much I  _ earned _ , she ought to have just paid me for my time. Ten bucks would have been fine.” 

 

“I don’t get you,” Ronan says, “if you’re being offered more money for a good job, why the hell would you want to turn it down? Just because you feel like it’s not fair?” 

 

“Yes,” Adam spits. 

 

“Geez,” Ronan says, sounds aggravated. Adam can hear him pushing himself up onto his feet, pacing away from the truck, “chill out, man. Whatever.” 

 

Adam forces himself to breathe deeply, which isn’t exactly enjoyable when he’s breathing in under truck smell, but it’s good to calm himself down. He’s glad he’s hidden under the truck, because he doesn’t have to focus on keeping his face calm as well. Nothing is easy. Well. The truck fix was easy. Nothing social was easy. 

 

Ronan doesn’t leave. Adam can hear him walking around the barn, fiddling with shit, never speaking. Eventually Adam’s satisfied with the fix - honestly it was just a matter of reconnecting some wires and tightening some bolts - and he pushes himself out from under the truck. Ronan is on the other side of the barn, leaning against the wall with his back to Adam, fiddling with some random bits and pieces on a tool bench. 

 

“Hey,” Adam says, “I’m done.” 

 

Ronan doesn’t turn around. 

 

“That was quick,” he says. 

 

“It was just a small issue,” Adam says. There’s a couple of cans of coke a few feet from his feet, condensation beading on the outside of the cans. A bag of chicken flavoured chips next to them. He sighs. “I hope,” he says, a little louder, “that, uh, that my problem with the money can be a small issue, too?” 

 

Ronan snorts. He drops whatever it is he’s holding back onto the bench, and then turns, still leaning against the wall, to look at Adam. 

 

“It’s fine,” he says flatly, looks Adam over, “you’ve got cobwebs in your hair.” 

 

Adam lifts his hand to his head, runs his fingers through his hair. Isn’t really very bothered. He’s had worse. Ronan is walking slowly back over to him. When he reaches him, he drops down on his ass, reaches out for the chips, and opens the packet loudly. 

 

“You like chicken chips?” he asks, grabbing a handful. Adam nods, and Ronan passes the packet over. 

 

-

 

It doesn’t take long to ascertain that Ronan is in a weird mood. Like. Adam doesn’t exactly know him very well. They’d only met once before, for fuck’s sake, but, last time even though he had been crass and over confident, he had seemed reasonably easy going. Had chatted with Adam about whatever shit was going through his mind. Today he keeps dropping into silence like something has distracted him. Adam has this weird feeling in the back of his mind that if he looks away for too long, Ronan will simply disappear. It’s that weird feeling he had after he had gone home the first time, like, this whole thing is a dream. Except if it is, he’s in the dream right now and already worrying about it being over. It doesn’t make sense. 

They drink the coke and eat the chips in the barn, and then Ronan suggests they go inside and play video games, and Adam agrees because he has never played video games and he is very keen to because he’s seen them played and they look fun. Ronan doesn’t believe he’s never played before. 

 

They hit a small problem as soon as they’re inside. The small problem is that Adam remembers exactly how dirty he is. It hadn’t been a problem out in the barn, but in here, with clean floors and probably painfully expensive furniture - it was a problem. 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, hesitates in the doorway to the lounge which Ronan has already walked into. This is where they’d ‘hung out’ last week, and he knows the couches are a light colour. Something that his greasy self will almost definitely stain. “I’m, uh, kinda dirty. Probably shouldn’t actually come in here.” 

 

Ronan looks him over, then he shrugs. 

 

“Have a shower,” he says, “I can lend you some more clothes.” 

 

“Oh fuck,” Adam says suddenly, “oh fuck!” 

 

“What?” Ronan asks, looking alarmed. He had sat down on one of the couch arms, but stood up again now and crossed the carpeted floor between them in two long steps, “What’s wrong?” 

 

The panic on Ronan’s face would be laughable if it wasn’t so shocking. 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, “sorry, I didn’t mean to like, freak you out - uh - it’s just - I meant to bring your clothes with me today. I was going to pick them up before I came to yours, but, well, plans changed and so I don’t have them with me.” 

 

Ronan rolls his eyes. Slumps against the door lintel. “It’s whatever,” he says flatly, then, changes tack and smirks at Adam, “means you have to come back here again.” 

 

Adam rolls his eyes back at him, then shrugs a little, scratches at his arm. “So,” he says, “I can have a shower?” 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, “ok, so, you’re not here for my mum, you’re honest to God just here for my shower?” 

 

“Yes,” Adam deadpans, “I couldn’t keep away. God, that water pressure. Oh baby, oh baby.” 

 

“Please don’t wank in the shower,” Ronan says, “I’ve read a dozen embarrassing articles about people’s showers blocking up because the cum blocked the drain.” 

 

“Why,” Adam asks. He thinks he’s flushing. This is the weirdest fucking conversation. 

 

Ronan shrugs. “The internet is a weird place at three in the morning. Come on,” he adds, “I’ll grab you some clothes and shit.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. He steps aside to let Ronan past, and then follows him upstairs. This time Ronan leads him past the bathroom, further down the hallway, and opens a door that leads into what Adam assumes must be Ronan’s bedroom. 

 

It’s cluttered with random shit. At a glance, Adam can see at least two instruments. Bed sheets and pillows are strewn around a large bed that’s wedged in between the corner and a desk covered in papers, pens, random crap, and also a huge, and empty, bird cage. Ronan wades his way through the general mess of clothing on the floor to a chest of drawers that’s covered in what looks like graffiti. 

 

Adam stands awkwardly in the doorway. 

 

“Uh,” he says, “you have a bird?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan mumbles, he’s searching through a drawer, just chucking random pieces of clothing over his shoulder, “she’s somewhere outside right now. She’s not really an inside pet.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. He hasn’t heard of people keeping birds as pets that get to fly around outside. “What kind of bird?” 

 

“Raven,” Ronan mumbles, “how did those sweat pants fit you last week?” 

 

“They were fine,” Adam says. He steps a little further into the room. 

 

The more he looks the more weird stuff he sees. There’s an overflowing bookshelf, titles in languages he doesn’t recognise. An art book is splayed open on the floor, dog marked and open on a page depicting some statue that he thinks he recognises but doesn’t know what is. There’s a huge stereo next to the bookshelf, speakers that look to be half Adam’s size. There’s a duffle bag half open at the feet of the stereo - squinting, Adam can see boxing gloves inside. Who the fuck is this boy. Ronan is suddenly right in front of him. 

 

“Having fun prying?” Ronan asks, and Adam blinks at him. 

 

“What?” he says, “I was just looking, God, Lynch. You have some secret in here or something?” 

 

“Piss off,” Ronan says, “it’s just weird having someone in my bedroom. Get out.” 

 

“The hell,” Adam mumbles, but retreats out of the room, Ronan following him, clothes in hand. He closes the door behind them, and hands the clothes to Adam. 

 

“I'll grab you a towel,” Ronan tells him, possibly implying that Adam should make his way back down the hallway to the bathroom. 

 

Adam follows Ronan instead, to the hall cupboard, stands to one side as Ronan opens it to reveal a veritable horde of towels. Ronan grunts. 

 

“What colour do you want, then?” Ronan asks. 

 

“What?” Adam says. 

 

“If you insist on monitoring my every move, you may as well pick a towel yourself,” Ronan says. 

 

Or, he snaps it. Adam doesn't know what to think of Ronan’s mood changes. They don't really seem apropos of anything in particular. He reaches over Ronan's shoulder, grabs a towel the same colour as the one Ronan had given him last week. Ronan shuts the cupboard again and they move down the hallway to the bathroom. They both pause outside it and Ronan looks vaguely uncomfortable. 

 

“I'm not going to wank in the shower,” Adam says, “I swear, Lynch, God.” 

 

“What the fuck ever,” Ronan grumbles, “same shit as last week. Help yourself.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. He opens the bathroom and steps inside. Ronan doesn't move. “What?” 

 

“Just,” Ronan mumbles. He's crossed his arms almost defensively across his chest. “you’re not still all bruised up, are you?” 

 

Adam considers. He is, in fact, still reasonably bruised up. The bruises on his face have lightened enough that he can hide them easily with light foundation, limited make up skills, and car grease. Ronan's going to see this when Adam gets out of the shower. There's no point in lying about it. 

 

“There are no new ones,” he lies instead, “I don't look as shitty anymore. I think the bruise cream helped. Thanks.” 

 

“Whatever,” Ronan says again, “I'll be in my room.” Now he turns on heel, stomps off. Adam cannot begin to fathom what the hell goes through Ronan's head.

 

-

 

The shower is just as perfect as last time. If Adam wasn't worried about overstepping, he would stay in it until the hot water ran out. If that's even a thing that happens in rich people houses. However, Adam has probably a few whole boxes of anxiety around overstepping and the like, so he just stays under the water for as long as it takes to clean himself thoroughly. He's not blinded with stupid emotions today, he doesn't feel anywhere near as vague, he can act like a normal human and take normal human showers without almost crying about how nice the soap smells. 

 

When he turns the shower off, he can hear music, muffled by walls. It doesn't sound like the trash Ronan was playing before, but he supposed the muffling might be fooling him. He dries off quickly - easy to do when the air around you isn't damp and the bathroom fan actually works. The clothes Ronan's given him are just as comfortable as the ones from the other day, and Adam relishes the feeling of them dragging over his skin. Until he realizes that the shirt is a v-necked t-shirt. It shows too much skin. He had been wearing a t-shirt as well, but the sleeves were longer, the neck higher, easily covering any more obvious damage. He has to decide then, if it's worth putting his dirty shirt back on. 

 

-

 

Ronan's door is ajar, the music coming from it absolutely not thrash metal. Adam thinks it's Irish jig music? He knocks, and when there's no response, he pushes the door open further and steps into the doorway. Ronan is lying in the mess of his blankets on his bed, back to the door. He's not moving, and Adam cannot tell if he's asleep or not. He dares another short step into the room.

 

“Ronan?” He tries, “you awake?” 

 

Ronan rolls over, eyes open. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, just looks over at Adam, expression strange. Adam is not equipped for deciphering strange expressions like this. 

 

“Clean?” Ronan rasps, “wanna be wiped out in Mario Kart now?” 

 

“Sure,” Adam says, “you should thank me for not wanting to fuck up your couches, y'know,” he adds teasingly. 

 

Ronan's strange expression disappears. 

 

-

 

Ronan teaches him how to play Mario Kart. Then, as promised, crushes Adam. They play for about an hour before Adam drops his controller on the couch and flops backwards. He's too exhausted to have fun losing anymore. 

 

“Loser,” Ronan snorts, drops his controller on Adam's stomach, which responds by gurgling loudly. “Hungry?” 

 

“A bit,” Adam says, because any other response in the current circumstances would be stupid. 

 

Ronan leaps up with a ridiculous amount of energy. “You want lasagna? Mum left me some to heat up.” 

 

Adam had not been planning on staying for dinner. In his few moments of hesitation, Ronan's strange expression passes over his face again. 

 

“Sure,” he says, “can I borrow your phone to call home?” 

  
  


-

  
  


His mother doesn't really care that he won't be home, but he knows for a fact that if he didn't call she would care. Which is fair.  Ronan leaves him in the lounge to make the phone call, and when Adam joins him in the kitchen, the microwave is humming and Ronan is sitting on the counter again. 

 

-

 

“Your mum never teach you that’s rude?” Adam asks, nodding towards the counter. 

 

“My mum doesn’t mind so long as I don’t sit in her cooking,” Ronan replies snarkily, “get up here, Parrish, don’t be a stick in the mud.” 

 

“I haven’t been in here long enough to be a stick in the mud,” Adam retorts, “if my mum ever caught me on any counters she’d whoop me.” 

 

This is meant to be a joke, or like, something he’d seen kind of as a joke? On crap tv played at the garage? The joke that your parents hit you? Played off as something funny and universal. Sometimes he thinks that if he can joke about this kind of thing, while keeping all his roots hidden still, it’ll make it less. Ronan does not look like he thinks this is a joke. 

 

“Is that what happened to your face?” he asks, and he’s incredibly serious. 

 

Adam looks at him, is very glad he doesn’t have to lie about this. “No,” he says, “my mum doesn’t actually hit me, Lynch.” 

 

Ronan swallows. “Ok,” he says, affecting a casual tone, as if he hadn’t just fixed Adam with the most sincere look Adam thinks he’s received for at least a decade. “Anyway,” he continues, “like I said. We can sit on the counters. Mum doesn’t care. Declan does though, but he’s not here so he can suck ass.” 

 

“A whole ass?” Adam asks, “Or like, just a part of ass? Because I feel like actually both would be difficult to achieve with any satisfaction.” 

 

“Oh you sweet naive antelope,” Ronan says, “let me tell you about all the ways you can suck ass.” 

 

“I don’t think I actually want to know this sort of information,” Adam replies with a snort, “and no one has ever called me an antelope. Or sweet.” 

 

“Sometimes the ass is very small,” Ronan says, ignoring Adam, “you can just plop it in your mouth like a gobsucker. Sometimes you just take a bite of the ass, and then suck it. Sometimes you just go like - “ he pauses and opens his mouth wide, “ - and just do your fucking best. Either way. Declan can do one of these.” 

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Adam snorts, “and that was somehow disgusting without even involving any gross comments.” 

 

“It’s one of my specialities,” Ronan says, smug. 

 

“What are your other specialities?” Adam asks, “The bagpipes?” He had seen the instrument, deflated and abandoned amongst the sea of Ronan’s floor clothing. 

 

Ronan looks at him. The expression is back. 

 

“Sure,” Ronan says, “I’m fucking good at the bagpipes.” 

 

“I’m not going to ask for a performance,” Adam says, “don’t worry.” 

 

“I wouldn’t have given one even if you had,” Ronan replies easily, “I don’t play anymore.” 

 

“Thought you just said you’re good at them?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “I’m good at a lot of things. I don’t have to do all of them.” 

 

“You don’t like playing them?” 

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Ronan says. 

 

“I mean,” Adam begins, and Ronan cuts in. 

 

“Stop,” he says harshly, “don’t.” 

 

Adam frowns. He’d been stepping closer towards the counter, with half a mind to sit up on it next to Ronan, but now he takes a large step backwards. 

 

“I’m not -” Adam says, “- you don’t need to tell me shit, Lynch.” 

 

Ronan sucks his upper lip into his mouth, bites at it, and then turns away from Adam, hops off of the counter, and crosses over to the microwave to open the door. He looks in at the food, letting the smell of cheese and meat waft out, and then shuts the door again and restarts it. 

 

“You didn’t,” Ronan begins, slowly, “you haven’t been in contact with my mum, have you?” 

 

Adam scoffs. Then clears his throat. Ronan isn’t turning back around to look at him, but he’s sure the strange expression is still there. 

 

“No,” he says, “why would I?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Ronan says, “who knows. Maybe she hired you to pretend to be my friend.” 

 

“Don’t be an ass,” Adam says, “I thought I made it clear just earlier that I don’t take money for money’s sake. I’m here of my own accord, Lynch.” 

 

Ronan continues to keep his back to him. 

 

“No objections on the friend, front, then?” he asks, which is obnoxious and stupid. 

 

“You’re an  _ ass _ ,” Adam snaps, “but, sure. Whatever. No. No objections. Hell knows I could do with such an irritating friend.” 

 

“At least I’m an irritating friend that gives you lasagne and teaches you Mario Kart,” Ronan offers. He turns around now, leans against the microwave, and smirks. As if he hadn’t just had what looked to be a miniature melt down.

 

Adam does not fucking understand. Why the hell would Ronan think Aurora would pay people to be his friend. Does he have no other friends? Why not? When he’s not being weird he’s perfectly fun to hang out with, and Aurora hadn’t seen surprised when Ronan had brought him home with him the first time. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense. Ronan is a fucking enigma. 

 

The lasagne, however, is divine. 

 

-

 

“Holy shit,” Adam moans, mouth full of pasta, “can your mum be my mum? I wanna eat this lasagne every day.” 

 

“You’re such a suck up,” Ronan snorts, “she’s not here, Parrish, calm your boner.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Adam says, stuffs more food into his already full mouth, “you get to live this, let me imagine living it.” 

 

“You can come over and eat whenever,” Ronan says, stabs ineffectively at his own lasagne, “she’s always cooking. It’s what she does now. When she’s not on the farm.” 

 

Adam has several questions he feels like asking here, but, Ronan is stabbing at his lasagne quite hard, and Adam does not want to bring back that strange expression. 

 

“Maybe I will,” he offers instead, and Ronan grants him a small smile in return. 

 

-

 

They wash up after dinner, Ronan apathetic about it, Adam insistent. Once the dishes are washed and put away, Ronan suggests they play a different video game, and Adam says just one game, and they go back into the lounge. 

 

He remembers the game loading, but, his eyes are heavy, and his stomach is heavy, and he’s so clean, and comfortable, and the house is a pleasant temperature, and - 

 

-

 

He wakes up to the sound of a door shutting, to the sound of hushed voices. The the sudden sound of the background music of the video game still playing its loading music suddenly shutting off. He’s warmer and heavier than he had been before, his mind a little muzzy with sleep. He opens his eyes to see Ronan sprawled on the other side of the couch, head bent at an odd angle, feet poking Adam’s legs, eyes firmly closed. There’s a man standing in front of the tv. Adam’s first urge is to pretend he is still asleep. His second is to draw his attention while simultaneously making himself as small as possible to not appear a threat. He goes with his third, which he thinks is a little more socially acceptable, and sits up slowly so as to draw the man’s attention without being weird about it. 

 

“Oh,” the man says, “hello, you’re awake.” 

 

“Um,” Adam says, “yes. Hi,” he pushes himself awkwardly up off of the couch and holds his hand out, “Adam Parrish. Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your couch.” 

 

The man snorts, but steps closer and takes Adam’s hand in a firm shake. “Declan Lynch,” he says, “I wasn’t aware Ronan was accepting new friend applications.” 

 

“Excuse me?” Adam asks. 

 

“Nothing,” Declan says, “we appreciate your sacrifice.” 

 

“Excuse me?” Adam asks. 

 

“Dec,” Aurora says firmly from the doorway, “please don’t be rude about your brother.” 

 

Declan drops Adam’s hand. Adam hadn’t been aware it had still been being held. The two of them turn to face Aurora, leaning against the door lintel. She looks tired, but happy, dressed in a light looking summer dress with a cardi wrapped around her. A teenage boy is leaning in against her shoulder, his arm around her waist. Adam assumes this must be Matthew. Ronan and Declan look remarkably similar, but Matthew looks almost a carbon copy of his mother, while the only evidence of Aurora that Adam had noticed in Ronan so far had been the way they looked at Adam. 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, “good evening, ma’am.” 

 

“Aurora,” Aurora reminds him gently. She squeezes Matthew(?) gently around the middle, and then releases him and steps into the room, “We didn’t mean to wake you.” 

 

“No that’s fine,” Adam says, clears his throat, scratches the back of his head awkwardly. His hair is all mussed up, flat from lying on it with still damp hair, “I need to head home, I - how late is it?” 

 

“Late,” Declan says, “but not too late. About nine forty.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, does his best not to swear in front of Aurora, although he’s sure she’s used to it seeing as every second word out of Ronan’s mouth is ‘fuck’. “Oh no. I need to be home, an hour ago -” 

 

As in response to the probable audible panic in Adam’s mouth, Ronan’s stirs on the couch, and then sits up abruptly. 

 

“We’ll get you home, dear, don’t worry,” Aurora says calmly to Adam, and then to Ronan, “we’re home, darling. You didn’t tell me you were going to have Adam over.” 

 

Adam thinks for a moment that Ronan is in trouble for this, but Aurora looks pleased, and a glance at Ronan tells him that Ronan doesn’t look worried. Or at least, not about that. He’s clambering to his feet, a little unsteady, and Matthew sneaks past his mother to first tug Ronan on to his feet, and then to pull him into a hug. Ronan speaks over Matthew’s shoulder. 

 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “it was a last minute thing.” 

 

“Well,” Aurora says, “I’m glad. Matty, honey, let your brother breathe.” 

 

“I’m not squishing him,” Matthew (who is Matthew, and also, is Matty) protests, and Declan laughs. 

 

He’s side stepped around Adam, who feels very awkward standing in the middle of a small family reunion, and reaches out to ruffle Matthew’s hair, and then to join the hug quickly. Just one arm around Ronan’s shoulder, a short squeeze before he steps back again. 

 

“Um,” Ronan says, he’s still speaking over Matthew’s shoulder. It looks like his arms are glued around Matthew’s waist with how  tightly he’s holding onto him, “I’ll drive you home, Adam?” 

 

“Thanks,” Adam starts to say, but Declan cuts him off. 

 

“No,” he says sharply, “it’s almost ten, Ronan. You’re not allowed to drive past that, and you won’t make it into town and back in time.” 

 

“No one will know,” Ronan protests, and Declan scoffs. This sounds like the beginning of an argument. 

 

“I’ll know,” Aurora chips in, coming further into the room. “It’s not a punishment, Ronan, please don’t push against it. Declan can drive Adam home?” 

 

“I can bike,” Adam says, “It’s not a problem.” 

 

“It’s too dark,” Matthew says, the first time he’s spoken to Adam, “and the driveway’s super bumpy, dude. Don’t worry, Dec’s a good driver. I’m Matty by the way, Ronan’s younger brother, I live here too. Who are you? I mean, I know you’re Adam ‘cos everyone’s calling you Adam, but I don’t think I’ve seen you at Aglionby, are you new. Wh-” 

 

He only stops talking because Ronan pulls a little out of the hug to clap his hand over Matthew’s mouth. 

 

“Um,” Adam says, wraps his arms around his own torso, “hi. Matty. I don’t go to Aglionby, nah, I’m at Mountain View.” 

 

Ronan does not remove his hand from Matthew’s face. He also doesn’t look at Adam. 

 

“Take my car, Declan,” Ronan says, “Adam’s shit is in the boot.” 

 

“Ok,” Declan says. “Keys?” 

 

Ronan releases Matthew’s face to reach into his back pocket for the keys, and tosses them at Declan. Matthew doesn’t pull away now that he’s been released, just ducks in so he can rest his head on Ronan’s shoulder, wraps his arms around Ronan’s waist. 

 

“Will we see you again soon, Adam?” Aurora asks, and Adam startles. He’d almost forgotten she was there, quite honestly. 

 

“Um,” he says, “I’ll have to check my schedule.” 

 

Ronan doesn’t say anything. 

 

“Got all your stuff?” Declan asks, which is a weird question to ask of someone who had been asleep five minutes ago and has been standing in the room with you the entire time since waking up. 

 

“Yes,” Adam says, “everything's in the car.” 

 

“Ok,” Declan says, “let’s try and get you home before you’re even more astronomically late.” 

 

Ronan still doesn’t say anything. He’s also not looking at Adam. 

 

Adam nods, turns a little to look at Matthew. 

 

“Nice to meet you Matthew,” he says, “uh, bye, Ronan.” He turns again to look at Aurora, “Good to see you again, ma- Aurora.” 

 

“And you too, dear,” Aurora says. She steps forward again to take him by the shoulders, kisses his cheek, just under a bruise he knows is still visible. Then she releases him and steps past him towards Ronan and Matthew. 

 

“Come on, then,” Declan says. 

 

He follows Declan out, puts his shoes on, gets in the car. 

 

Declan doesn’t put music on when he turns the car on, just starts driving, slow and steady. 

 

“Where am I taking you?” he asks once they’ve reached the end of the driveway. 

 

“Town,” Adam says, gives him the street name, and Declan nods, turns left to drive into town. 

 

They drive in silence for almost a full five minutes, and then Declan breaks it. Not with music like Ronan does. 

 

“Have you two been friends for long?” he asks. 

 

Adam does not think he should reply that they’ve been friends since that afternoon. 

 

“We met this summer,” he says instead. Declan makes a vague grunting noise. 

 

“Mum didn’t mention you,” he says. It sounds almost like an insult. Adam isn’t sure why it would be. 

 

“I’ve only met Aurora once, before,” Adam says. Declan grunts again. 

 

“So,” Declan says, “Mountain View?” 

 

Adam can feel his defences rising. Is sure his shoulders are rising with it. He has proof now that this is an Aglionby family. 

 

“Yes,” Adam says stiffly. “What of it?” 

 

Declan barks out a short laugh, glances at Adam. “That wasn’t meant to be a snide comment,” he says, almost agreeably, “I was just clarifying.” 

 

Adam nods. 

 

“Is this your last year?” Declan asks, and Adam nods again. “Any plans for next year?” Declan presses. 

 

“University,” Adam says, “I don’t know where yet.” he wants to keep this conversation as vague as possible. 

 

“Sounds good,” Declan says. “Have you met Noah and prince Gansey, then?” 

 

“Excuse me?” Adam asks, “Who?” 

 

“Ha,” Declan laughs, “I’ll take that as a no. Never mind then.” 

 

It’s an obvious dismissal, and Adam will be damned before he looks so needy as to press on this. 

 

“What do you study at university?” Adam asks, is bored of having to answer questions. 

 

“Politics and business,” Declan replies swiftly, “I’ll probably just do politics next year, though.” 

 

“Do you enjoy it?” Adam asks, because, he hasn’t met many people who are attending university, and, the majority of people he knows who have even been to university are his teachers. He needs intel. 

 

“Yes,” Declan says firmly. “Laugh at me if you will,  but it’s a thrill getting an education which you know will lead people to respect you.” 

 

“I don’t find that laughable,” Adam says, “just relatable.” 

 

“You enjoy studying, then?” Declan asks. 

 

“Not quite,” Adam says, “but I enjoy learning. I want to learn as much as I possibly can.”

 

Declan grunts again, this time his grunts sound approving.

 

“You  get good grades then?” he asks, and this is something that Adam can really talk about, even if it embarrasses him a little. 

 

“I’m on the honour roll,” he says, “best grades in school.” 

 

He waits for Declan to make some sarcastic remark that that can’t be hard at a school like Mountain View, but he doesn’t. He just nods, looks impressed. Offers Adam a small smile. 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, “my street’s coming up. Just park at the end of the driveway.” 

 

“Alright,” Declan says. They drive up to it in silence. 

 

Adam undoes his seat belt, reaches for the door, and Declan stops him. 

 

“I want you to know,” he says calmly, staring through the windshield into the illuminated night in front of him, “that if you hurt Ronan, I don’t care if you’re the smartest in your school, or the nicest person in Henrietta, I will end you.” 

 

Adam does not think there is a proper response to this. He furrows his brow. Says; “Can you pop the boot?” 

 

Declan pops the boot. Adam gets out of the car, gets his bike, grabs his bag, waves Declan off, and begins walking down the driveway. 

 

He does not understand a single one of the Lynch’s. 

 

-

 

His parents, unsurprisingly, are not pleased about how late he is. 

 

-

 

He has another free afternoon just a couple of days afterwards, and, he has this weird itchy want to call Ronan. To go to his. Maybe see if there’s anything else that needs fixing. To play that video game they never even started. To smell the forest fresh scent of the house. He can’t though. It’s too soon. The new bruises are too fresh. He’s not gonna risk it anymore than he already has by wearing Ronan’s v-neck shirt. By letting Ronan see the faded bruises on his face. 

 

He goes to Nino’s instead, because Blue is working, and he wants to pretend he has more friends than just Ronan who he barely knows but whose brother has already threatened him over their friendship. 

 

Blue already knows all about the bruises. Not by any choice of Adam, but, because it was a commonly known secret at Mountain View. There’s no way you can go to the same school for your entire life with the same people and not have them notice the regularity of your injuries. Specifically if some of them are also your neighbours who probably get to hear the injuries occuring. It doesn’t bear thinking about. The good thing is, is that Blue doesn’t bring them up. She purses her lips at them, looks mad about them, but never says anything. 

 

-

 

“Your usual?” Blue asks him when he comes in. She’s wearing a snide smile and something with about 276% too many tassels. “Coke and witty conversation?” 

 

“Hold the wit,” Adam sighs, “I’m too tired, today.” 

 

“I’ll tell the chef to go easy on it, then,” Blue replies, “we’re a little full up today, so you can’t have your usual table. Come sit up at the counter and I’ll snaffle you some bread, too.” 

 

Adam wonders about Blue. He knows she wants to get out of Henrietta almost as much as he does, loves learning as much as he does, wants  _ more _ in a way he finds almost painfully relatable. And yet - she’s so different. She’s fiery in all the ways Adam is withdrawn, and withdrawn in all the ways Adam is fiery.  She has such a large sprawling family, made up of so many different kinds of people, while Adam only has his parents who seem almost to be made of the same paper stock as each other. She is original, and outrageous, and does not give a fuck what other people think or say about her, and then, there’s Adam, who wears the same boring clothes so as to blend in, who wants to keep his head down at least until he can escape, who cares so fucking much what people think about him. He doesn’t get why, out of an entire school full of people, Blue would choose him to be friendly with. To be kind of friends with. 

 

It doesn’t make sense. 

 

A lot of things doesn’t make sense right now. 

 

Another thing that doesn’t make sense, is the hand reaching out to grab at his elbow as he brushes past a booth, and a voice joyously calling out his name. 

 

It’s Matthew Lynch, smile cherubic, hair golden, hand on Adam’s elbow. He’s squished into one side of the booth with Declan, is sitting opposite Ronan, alone, on the other side. 

 

“Adam!” Matthew says cheerfully, as if he is the one Adam has been kind of building a friendship with instead of Ronan, “What a surprise to see you here!” 

 

Adam turns to him, does his best not to shake his arm in an effort to get Matthew to release him. As he faces the table, he watches as Mathew’s wide grin slips straight off of his face, as Declan’s eyes narrow, and as Ronan’s face shifts from something almost uncomfortable to something difficult to look at. Adam attempts to ignore all of this. Matthew pulls his arm back, shock and horror clear on his face.

 

“Hi, Matty,” he says, clears his throat. “Declan.” He glances at Ronan again to see that Ronan is very pointedly not looking at him. “Ronan.” 

 

“Are you ok?” Matthew asks, his look of horror still on his face even now that both his brothers have slipped on carefully blank masks, “what happened?” 

 

“Slipped at work,” Adam says, clears his throat again, “I’m a mechanic. It happens sometimes.” 

 

Before Matthew, or either of the other Lynch’s can reply, Blue is at Adam’s elbow, her hand touching at his shoulder. 

 

“Are these Aglionby boys bothering you?” she asks, voice mock cheerful, face absolutely truthfully thunderous.

 

“No!” Matthew protests, “No! Adam is a friend.” 

 

Ronan isn’t even looking at Adam, and yet his younger brother, who Adam has met once for less than five minutes, is saying that he’s a friend. This is beyond ridiculous. Why the fuck won’t Ronan even look at him. Blue is still waiting on Adam to answer. 

 

“No,” he says, “it’s fine. Um, I -” 

 

“Are you here alone?” Matthew interrupts, “You could sit with us. We’re having a late lunch. Join us!” 

 

Neither Ronan or Declan move or comment at this. It’s as if it’s just Matthew at the table, a beaming light of insistence. Adam doesn’t know how to turn this much cheerfulness down without feeling like he’s kicking a puppy who did nothing but smile at him. 

 

“I don’t want to intrude,” he says instead, and now Declan bothers saying something. 

 

“You’re not intruding,” he says firmly, “sit down, Parrish, it’s good to see you.” 

 

Adam vaguely wishes Blue would say something here that would get him out of this because Ronan is still not looking at him and what the fuck, what the fucking fuck. 

 

The only place to sit is next to Ronan. Which of course would be fine if Ronan was acting like Adam existed right now. Is he supposed to feel hurt about this? Because he does. He sits down next to Ronan. Ronan scoots along the booth seat to give Adam more than ample space. Adam glances at Blue. Her lips are pursed. 

 

“So,” Blue says, “I’ll give you all some more time to think about your order?” 

 

“Please,” Declan says. 

 

“You already know my order,” Adam says. Blue nods, whisks away. 

 

“Do you know her?” Matthew whispers across the table at him, “Her name’s Blue, right?” 

 

“Yes,” Adam says. 

 

“Hey Ronan,” Matthew says, “doesn’t Gans have like, the biggest crush on Blue?” 

 

Ronan grunts noncommittally, and Matthew turns his attention back on Adam. “He does,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper,  “he has for years.” 

 

Adam does not know who Gans is. He supposes he’s probably the prince Gansey Declan mentioned, but that does not shed any further light on who he is. He nods. A lot of people have crushes on Blue, which is spectacularly unwise, because Blue is as likely to crush your nuts as she is to say yes to a date. He’s watched it happen a few times. 

 

Declan is looking from Adam to Ronan, and then, very suddenly, to Matthew. 

 

“Matty,” he says, “help me with something in the bathroom?” 

 

“What?” Matthew scoffs, looks at Declan in amusement, “With what?” 

 

“He needs you to hold his dick,” Ronan mumbles. He’s folded his arms on the table, has his head pillowed on them. His voice muffled. Adam’s surprised he’s even said anything. 

 

“Don’t be crude, Ronan,” Declan snaps, softens his voice again for Matthew, “just come on. Scoot out.” 

 

Matthew pouts, but obeys, and Adam watches as the two brothers clamber out of the booth, and away in the direction of the men’s. 

 

Adam watches them go, simultaneously grateful for Declan, and annoyed at him, and then turns to look at Ronan. 

 

“I can go,” Adam says, “if that’s what you want. You can tell Matthew I remembered I had something I needed to do.” 

 

“That’s a shitty excuse,” Ronan says into his arms, and Adam huffs loudly in frustration. 

 

“So what did I do, then?” Adam snaps, “Did I not call you soon enough? Are you mad because I fell asleep on your couch? You want your clothes back? Just tell me. Stop with this passive aggressive bull shit.” 

 

Ronan doesn’t lift his head from his arms. 

 

“You didn’t do jack shit,” Ronan says, “there is no problem with you.” 

 

“The hell,” Adam says, “what’s your problem then.” 

 

“You’re bruised up again,” Ronan says. 

 

Adam stares at the side of his face. 

 

“No,” he says, “you were acting weird when I left the other day as well. So. What’s your problem.” 

 

Ronan groans, but at least he sits up now, turns his face a little towards Adam. It looks like this is difficult for him to do, his face is taut. 

 

“I should have woken you up,” Ronan says clearly, “and got you home on time. I didn’t want - don’t fucking take this the wrong way. I didn’t want you to meet my brothers. And, I sure as fuck didn’t want you to know about my driving restrictions, or for Declan to drive you home.” 

 

Adam stares at him. Difficult not to take it the wrong way. 

 

“Ok?” he says, “So, like, what? Is this your friendship deal breaker or some shit then? I meet your brothers and we’re not allowed to be friends anymore?” 

 

“Oh fuck off,” Ronan spits, “no.” 

 

“Ok well then fill me the fuck in, Lynch,” Adam says, “you can’t expect to just act so weird, and to say such strange things, and expect me to just magically instantly get it.” 

 

Ronan finally looks at him properly. His eyes are dark, heavy with bags, and red rimmed. Adam wonders if this is why Ronan had been so carefully not looking at him. If he didn’t want Adam to see this as much as Adam didn’t want Ronan to see his bruises. They were both looking at each other’s damage now, anyway. 

 

“I don’t want to,” Ronan says, “I don’t want to explain. I don’t want you to know. I - it was just a lot at once. You’re fucking welcome to leave if that’s too weird for you, or whatever, but I don’t want to talk about it.” 

 

Adam looks at him. Just looks at him. Because he’d known from the moment he’d seen Ronan that first time that Ronan was weird. Downright strange. Possibly not real. And he’d known since Ronan had dropped him off at his house that first weird day that he didn’t care. 

 

“Ok,” he says, “that’s fine. Just. Stop ignoring me, yeah?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, kicks him under the table, “fine,” he says, elbows him, “is this enough?” he asks, shoulder checks him. 

 

“Fuck off,” Adam snorts, slams his side into Ronan’s, half squishes him against the wall. It makes his ribs cry out in alarm at the pressing and pulling off his bruises, but it’s worth it for the bubble of laughter that comes from Ronan. 

 

“So,” Ronan says, once he’s unstuck himself from the wall and Adam’s shuffled back onto his space on the seat, “what really happened to your face, then?” 

 

Adam laughs. “If you’re allowed to not wanna talk about shit, so am I,” he says flatly, and Ronan looks disgruntled, but nods. 

 

“That’s fair,” he says, “asshole.” 

 

Declan and Matthew return. Blue returns to take their orders, and to give Adam his coke. The Lynch’s order way too much pizza, way too many fries, and extra large shakes. Adam is viscerally reminded how fucking thoughtlessly rich they are. The food arrives. They all but force Adam to help them eat it because it’s too much, even for three huge boys like them. 

 

They talk about the weirdest shit. Matthew wants to talk about everything from rugby to Studio Ghibli, to dragons, to kittens. Declan talks about his university classes, how much he hates some of the Aglionby teachers, and how Ronan needs to wash his car more often. Ronan insults everyone regularly, not quite cutting insults, laughs at Matthew’s every joke, and kicks Adam’s ankle every few minutes. He’s pretty sure it’s going to bruise. He kinda doesn’t care. Every so often though, Matthew gets a look on his face which is almost similar to Ronan’s strange expression, except this look makes Adam think Matthew is going to ask about his bruises again. Every time this happens, Adam surges on with whatever topic is at hand at the time, and the look fades from Matthew’s face. 

 

When they finish up, somehow managing to clear the entire table, Ronan kicks Adam’s ankle again, this time a little harder, and when Adam turns to look at him, Ronan scowls at him. 

 

“Hey,” Ronan says, “come back to ours.” 

 

“Is that a question?” Adam asks, “Or an order?” 

 

“Demand,” Ronan says, “I never got to beat your ass in that video game, you fell asleep before it even opened.” 

 

Adam rolls his eyes, but then shrugs. 

 

“Sure,” he says, “but,” he adds on, “I honestly have to be home before six.” 

 

“That barely gives us any time,” Ronan protests, “like, only just an hour if we cut off travel time.” 

 

“You’ll have to deal with it,” Adam says, “because I can’t change that.” 

 

Ronan nods. 

 

“Can we go, now, then?” Declan asks, he’s already standing, shuffling Matthew out of the booth, “I’m gonna go pay.” 

 

Declan gets in before him, and somehow, somehow, right under his nose, pays for Adam’s fucking coke as well. Blue shrugs, shoos him away. Adam doesn’t know how to protest this without sounding like an ungrateful dick. He wants to anyway. 

 

Ronan’s BMW isn’t in the lot, instead, there’s the truck that Adam had fixed up just the other day. It’s obviously come fresh from a car wash, and it’s almost odd to see it out of the barn. They load Adam’s bike into the trailer bed of the truck, and Declan chucks a cable tie over it to secure it, and then they pile into the truck. Declan and Matthew in the front, Ronan and Adam squished into the very small back seat. It is not a vehicle made for passengers. He feels like if he and Ronan sit any closer they might just have to get married and call it a day. 

 

Matthew switches on music this time, fills the cab up with some twangy country music, and him and Declan sing loudly and obnoxiously along to it while Ronan laughs in the back seat and provides percussion on the back of Declan’s seat. Adam isn’t sure how to fit into this. He doesn’t do wild and friendly and intimate like this. He certainly doesn’t sing along to music and make a dick of himself. He almost wants to though, especially when Ronan grins at him, wide and unabashed. 

 

-

 

Ronan explains the video game to Adam, gets Matthew to play the first round with him as example, and then proceeds to thoroughly thrash Adam for half an hour. The second half hour however, Adam thoroughly thrashes Ronan. It’s very satisfying. Matthew lies on the floor in front of the tv and eggs them on. Declan disappears off somewhere in the house. Aurora comes in and out every so often, asking what the boys want for dinner, trying to persuade Adam to stay for dinner, bemoaning the state of Adam’s face, laughing at Ronan’s despair at losing for the seventh time in a row. Ronan drives Adam back home. Rather than taking the truck, which Adam thinks would be the sensible option, Ronan insists on taking Adam's bike out of the bed of the truck and chucking into the boot of his car instead. Adam doesn’t care. He prefers the BMW anyway. 

 

-

 

“I still have your clothes,” Adam points out as Ronan drives him back. 

 

“I could come in and pick them up when we get to yours,” Ronan suggests, and Adam realises he’s made a huge tactical error. 

 

“Um,” he says, and then, luckily, Ronan keeps talking. 

 

“Or,” Ronan says, “you can hang onto them so you have an excuse to come over again.” 

 

“Why,” Adam teases, “you won’t invite me over otherwise?” 

 

“Absolutely not,” Ronan says, “and look desperate?” 

 

“Maybe I’ll just keep them,” Adam says, “they’re comfy.” 

 

Ronan’s silent a moment, and then he says; “You can. If you want.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “nah. I’m giving them back to you. When the stars align or some shit.” 

 

“I can wait,” Ronan says, then, “you can wear them while you have them.” 

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Adam says, “and have to wash them again? The stars will never align if I do that.” 

 

“You don’t need to wash them,” Ronan says, “you can just give them back. I can wash them.” 

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Adam repeats, then, “look. My next afternoon off is Wednesday. Maybe that could be the star day?”

 

“Hm,” Ronan says, “I could do Wednesday. You wanna come around? We can try a different video game so I can win again.” 

 

“Sure,” Adam says, “I’ll bike out to you. It’s my shift at Poppy’s, so I’ll be real close.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “yeah. Ok. That’s cool.” 

 

They get to Adam’s driveway all too soon. He kind of wants to just… just stay in the car and chat a bit longer, but it’s five to six, and it’s never a good idea to push it with his parents. 

 

“Wednesday,” Ronan says. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam replies, “uh, I’ll probably get to yours at four?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “stay for dinner?” 

 

“We’ll see,” Adam says, “I gotta get permission first.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says again. Doesn’t push it, which is useful. “I’ll pop the boot for you.” 

 

“Thanks.” 

 

-

 

“You’re cutting it fine,” Adam’s mother greets him as he passes her in the kitchen on his way to his room to put his bag away. “Another minute and your dad would’a been pissed.” 

 

“Sorry,” Adam says, because he’s long, long ago learned that there’s no point in pointing out that he wasn’t another minute later, so it’s fine. “Do I have time to get chores done before dinner?” 

 

“We ate early,” his mother replies blandly, “there’s none left. So yes. Go ahead, do your chores.” 

 

Adam swallows. Good thing he had a late lunch then, he guesses. “Ok,” he says. 

 

-

 

He manages to get to Wednesday without incident. It’s not usually this bad, despite the last few weeks saying differently, it’s just, his father gets extra tetchy during the summer holidays. He wants Adam to be working every spare moment, as if Adam has to make up, in the span of one, not long enough holiday, all the time he had ‘wasted’ while he was at school. It’s an impossible task, so his father continues to go disappointed, and Adam continues to be disappointing. So. It’s a success. The getting to Wednesday with only his fading bruises. He doesn’t want to give Matthew another opportunity to ask, doesn’t want to look so pathetic in front of Aurora again.  He takes Ronan’s clothes, in a plastic bag inside his work bag, is stupidly proud of himself for having everything going well. He half expects things to stop going well, because, that’s what happens in his life, but it doesn’t. Work is fine. He bikes to Ronan’s. They play video games. Ronan beats Adam. Adam beats Ronan. Matthew joins in. Matthew crushes them both. Ronan plays Adam some music that isn’t awful. Adam fixes Matthew’s remote control helicopter. Aurora tells him that he’s a guest and no he doesn’t need to help with dinner. Declan asks his opinion on the political climate. Ronan drags Adam away from the conversation and introduces him to the goats. They eat dinner. They play video games for a while longer. Ronan drives him home. It’s fine. He does his chores. He goes to bed. Everything is fine. 

 

-

 

He sees Ronan again the next day, after Boyd’s. Simply a coincidence. He’s biking home, takes the long route because his father has a shift that evening and if Adam is simply ten minutes later home than usual he’ll get to miss him. He spots Ronan’s car parked in a parking lot outside what looks to be an abandoned factory, and pauses on the road outside long enough to watch as Ronan walks out of the building. He’s undecided on what to do, if he should keep biking, or to go over to Ronan, but Ronan takes the decision out of his hands by looking up, spotting him, and waving him over. 

 

“The hell are you doing?” Adam asks, “I thought this place shut down like, before we were born?” 

 

“It did,” Ronan snorts. They’ve met at Ronan’s car, Ronan coming from the foot of the factory building, Adam coming from the road, “and then some dumbass bought it and turned it into a student hovel.” 

 

“What?” Adam snorts. “So why were you there? Making fun of the hovel?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, opens his car door and leans against the open door, “and watering the dumbass’s plants.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, eyebrows raised, “you know this dumbass then?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “he’s my best friend. Gansey. Lives here with my mate Noah.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. 

 

“Gansey’s with his parents in DC, right now,” Ronan says, says it almost stiffly, like it’s difficult to get the words out. “Noah is on holiday with his family in Hawaii.” 

 

Aglionby boys. 

 

“Huh,” Adam says, “I thought Aglionby had its own dorms?” 

 

“It does,” Ronan says, “Gansey is too eccentric to survive in them though. He needs his own space to spread out and be weird.”    
  


Adam supposes this is a rich person privilege. “Huh,” he says again, then, “Declan’s mentioned Gansey. And Noah, a few times.”

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “I think he’s weirded out that you don’t know them.” 

 

“Why would I know them?” Adam asks, and Ronan shrugs. 

 

“I guess,” Ronan says, he’s not looking at Adam. Adam has figured out in the last couple of times they’d hung out, that Ronan appears incapable of making eye contact when he talks about himself. “I guess because they’re my only friends. And have been for like, well, a long time. He probably has some asshole idea that I can’t make friends that aren’t connected to them.” 

 

“I see,” Adam says, “well he’s a dumbass then.” 

 

Adam has also figured out, that, though Ronan appears to love his brothers, he also loves it when Adam needles at Declan. Matthew finds it funny as well, and Declan just rolls his eyes. 

 

Ronan laughs, and nods, then says, “Put your bike in the boot.” 

 

“I’m going home,” Adam says. 

 

“I’ll take you,” Ronan replies archly. 

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Adam says, “it’s not worth it for such a short trip.” 

 

Plus it’d mean he’d get home too soon. 

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Ronan mimics, then says, “I wouldn’t take you straight home. Let’s go for a drive. I’m bored. I wanna kill some time and energy.” 

 

Adam considers it, then he shrugs. “Ok,” he says, “I gotta be home within the hour, though.” 

 

-

 

They do drive for a while. But then Ronan parks them on the outskirts of town at another abandoned factory looking thing - clear reminders of one of the reasons Adam wants to get out of here. 

 

“What are we doing?” Adam asks as Ronan hops out of the car, waving him to get out too.

 

“There’s a dolly here,” Ronan says. 

 

“What?” Adam says, “A doll?” 

 

“No,” Ronan snorts, “a dolly. A moving dolly. A thing on wheels.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “this isn’t enlightening me on why we’re here, though.” 

 

“We’re here,” Ronan says, “because I thought it’d be fun to attach the dolly to my car and drive around with you on the dolly.” 

 

“Oh yeah,” Adam says, “that’s a definite fuck no.” 

 

“Well,” Ronan says, still looking for the dolly, “how about you drive me around on the dolly?” 

 

“I don’t drive stick,” Adam says. Ronan lets out a cry of joy as he discovers the dolly upturned in a clump of weeds. 

 

“You’re a mechanic,” Ronan says, “how do you not drive stick?” He’s dragging the dolly back over to Adam and the car. It looks worse than Adam had imagined. 

 

“I just don’t,” Adam says, “I was never taught,” 

 

“So,” Ronan says, “I’ll teach you.” 

 

“Sure,” Adam snorts. 

 

“I’m serious,” Ronan says, “I’m great at stick. Been driving since I was twelve.” 

 

“Right,” Adam says, “but you’re not allowed to drive after ten?” 

 

He doesn’t mean to say this. Some part of him already knows that this is something Bad to say. He’s right.  Ronan’s face goes from uncomplicated and smiling to shut down and pulled back in less than a second. 

 

“That’s something different,” Ronan mumbles, before Adam can pull his words back. “Nothing to do with my driving abilities.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. He fully expects Ronan to withdraw his offer now. 

 

“So,” Ronan says. “Get in the car. I’ll teach you.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

Ronan abandons the dolly, circles the car to get into the passenger seat of his own car. Adam circles it the other way around and gets into Ronan’s seat behind the wheel. Ronan hands him the keys. What follows is a lesson that is far and away better than Adam had been expecting, and so much better than any of his previous driving lessons. He might be bunny hopping a little around the abandoned parking lot, but he’s driving it, he’s not fearing for his own life. Ronan appears pleased as well. Adam’s thoughtless comment seemingly forgotten. Then, of course, Adam puts his foot in it again. Whatever ‘it’ is. 

 

“Who taught you?” he asks as he completes his third circuit in a row without bunny hopping once. 

 

Ronan is silent for long enough that Adam thinks that maybe he just thought about asking the question and never actually said it out loud. He’s about to ask again when Ronan answers. 

 

“My dad,” he says. 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. He doesn’t see the warning sign, the gaping hole in front of him. He’s too preoccupied with shifting gears. “So, are your parents separated?” 

 

Like, half the kids he knows have divorced or separated parents. It seems likely. Again, Adam almost doubts that he’s put a voice to this question. When Ronan answers, he almost doesn’t put any voice in it either. 

 

“He’s dead,” Ronan says. 

 

Adam bunnyhops. 

 

“Oh,” he says. Stalls the car completely. They come to a stop in the middle of the parking lot, engine shut off, Adam staring out the windshield, Ronan staring out his window. “I’m...sorry.” 

 

“Don’t,” Ronan says. “I don’t want to talk about it.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

“Just,” Ronan says, sounds like he’s dragging words out of himself with a hook, “don’t bring it up in front of mum. Or Matthew.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

“I should get you home,” Ronan says, still speaking to his window, “it’s getting late.” 

 

They swap seats. Ronan drives him home. Adam can’t figure out how to word an apology that might be acceptable. Ronan goes. Adam goes inside. Does his chores. Eats a crust sandwich. Goes to bed. 

 

-

 

He calls Ronan on Saturday. He’s working a late shift at Poppy’s, which is normal, and usual, and fine, but he’s been waiting his entire shift so far for the storm gathering overhead to pass, and instead of passing, it had poured. There’s no way in hell he’s biking home in this weather. For one, Poppy won’t let him, and, secondly, the radio has just announced that the main road into town is flooded. Not useful to say the least. It’s not too late yet, only just nine thirty, so Ronan shouldn’t be asleep. He’s working until eleven though, so, Ronan won’t be able to pick him up, but maybe? Maybe Declan could drive him home in the truck. The truck should be able to get through the flooded road easily enough. 

 

-

 

“Parrish,” Ronan answers, on the fourth ring. “Hey.” 

 

“Lynch,” Adam replies, “I know it’s late, but -” 

 

“Are you an old lady?” Ronan snorts, “It’s not late, you dick fuck.” 

 

Adam snorts. Composes himself quickly. He’s not spending his break laughing at juvenile insults. “Ok,” he says, “look, can I ask a favour?” 

 

“You can ask it,” Ronan drawls. 

 

“I’m at Poppy’s,” Adam says, “and, uh, you’ve probably noticed it’s storming?” 

 

“I have,” Ronan says. 

 

“Well,” Adam says, “radio says the main road is flooded, and Poppy says there’s no way in hell I’m biking home tonight.” 

 

“Want me to come pick you up?” Ronan asks. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, sighs, “uh, but, here’s the problem. I mean, another problem, god. I don’t get off work until eleven. So - I was thinking - hoping - wondering if Declan could maybe… maybe drive me home? I know it’s a lot to ask. I’m sorry.” 

 

Ronan snorts. 

 

“You want to risk Declan’s life on a flooded road?” he asks. 

 

“It’s only too flooded to stop feeble cars,” Adam says, “and bikes. The truck would be fine.” 

 

“I’m kidding,” Ronan says, then, “you could just crash here overnight. Safer than going home in this storm. Ever if trucks can make it easy.” 

 

Adam considers. Because, it is tempting. 

 

“Plus,” Ronan says, “that way I could come pick you up instead of Declan.” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, “it’d still be after ten.” 

 

Ronan makes a frustrated noise. “I’m allowed to drive if there’s someone with me,” he says, which doesn’t sound like even half of a full explanation. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, doesn’t push on that, “but, Lynch,” he says, slow and carefully, “I still finish at eleven. You’d still have to drive here alone.” 

 

“You just don’t wanna drive with me,” Ronan says, feigning hurt dramatically. “You wound me, Parrish,” 

 

“Stop being an ass,” Adam sighs, “I’m just trying to be sensible.” 

 

“I’ll drive in before ten,” Ronan says, “I’m kinda craving Poppy’s doughnuts anyway. I’ll be your last late night customer.” 

 

“Ronan,” Adam says, “I don’t wanna put you ou-” 

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ronan says, “I just said I want doughnuts. This has nothing to do with you.” 

 

“Whatever,” Adam says. 

 

“So,” Ronan says, “you’re gonna stay the night?” 

 

“Whatever,” Adam says, “will your mum be ok with it?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says. 

 

“Could you check with her, anyway?” Adam asks. 

 

Ronan groans. “Yes,” he sighs. “Gimme a second.” Before Adam can reply to this, he hears Ronan raising his voice and saying, “Hey mum. Can Adam stay the night tonight?” 

 

Adam can’t hear the answer, but Ronan returns almost immediately to say; “She says yes and do you want an air bed or a mattress or a fold out?” 

 

“Um,” Adam says, had honestly been expecting to crash on the couch or the floor, “whatever’s convenient.” 

 

“God,” Ronan says, “such a suck up. Whatever. I’ll see you soon.” 

 

“Bye,” Adam says. 

 

He calls his mum next, because he needs to tell her he won’t be home, even if she won’t care. She’s not pleased about it, but not because she’s worried.

 

-

 

Ronan arrives sooner than he had expected, and honestly, he probably should have expected this because it is nearing ten, so Ronan would have to come before that, for whatever odd reason it is he can’t, or won’t, drive past ten at night by himself. It’s a weird rule, and Adam very much wants to ask about it.  

 

Ronan gives him a weird look when he comes in. Not the strange expression he wears sometimes that Adam’s gotten used to now. Something different. Something Adam feels like he can ask about. 

 

“What’s with your face?” he greets Ronan as Ronan approaches the counter, and Ronan laughs, then mimes offence. 

 

“Is this how you treat your customers?” he gasps, “Get me your manager!” 

 

“Shut up,” Adam grins. 

 

“It’s just weird,” Ronan says, “You’ve never noticed me coming in here before. I mean. I always noticed you, but I was always just another customer to you. So like, it’s weird, you acknowledging me? I mean. You did acknowledge me before, obviously, I was a customer, but now -” he must have realised he’s rambling, because he stops himself abruptly, rolls his eyes, and stares up at the ceiling. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “that is weird,” he agrees, “you’d think I’d remember such a weird customer, to be honest.” 

 

“Rude,” Ronan says, “get me doughnuts.” 

 

“Rude,” Adam tosses back at him, then keys the doughnuts in, “will that be all tonight?” 

 

“And a hot chocolate,” Ronan says, leans against the counter, “with cream. And marshmallows.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam snorts, “anything else?” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says, is fumbling his card out of his back pocket.

 

He pays, Adam delivers the order to the kitchen, Ronan seats himself up on the counter stool, folds his arms, and rests his head on them. 

 

“No one else is here,” Ronan says. 

 

“No,” Adam agrees. Busies himself with making Ronan’s hot chocolate. 

 

“You could just finish your shift early?” Ronan suggests. 

 

“No,” Adam disagrees, “Poppy wouldn’t have it.” 

 

“It’s stormy,” Ronan says, “no one else will come in.” 

 

“We’re a roadside diner,” Adam says, “people caught in the storm might come in.” 

 

Ronan sighs. Has to pause his objections because Adam turns the machine on and it whirrs loudly. By the time it’s quiet enough to speak without yelling again, Ronan’s moved on. 

 

“Mum wants to know why you don’t come around more often,” Ronan says into his arms. 

 

Adam raises his eyebrows, scoops whipped cream. 

 

“I’ve been to yours heaps,” he says, “considering how long we’ve known each other for.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “well. She can’t believe how much you work. Thinks it’s a Goddamned sin to work so much in the holidays.” 

 

“Well,” Adam sighs, drops four too many marshmallows into the hot chocolate, “she’ll be horrified to learn that Poppy’s and Boyd’s aren’t my only jobs then.” 

 

“The fuck,” Ronan says, sitting up straight. “I’m horrified to learn that.” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Adam says, passes Ronan his hot chocolate, “here you go.” 

 

“Where else do you work?” Ronan asks, takes the hot chocolate. 

 

“A factory down the road from mine,” Adam says, “in the mornings. I had a weekend job in town as well, but I got let go due to nepotism. I work in the trailer park yard for my father every couple of evenings.” 

 

“Shit,” Ronan says, “what the hell? And here I am with no jobs, like an idiot!” 

 

“You do shit on the farm, though, yeah?” Adam asks. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan shrugs, “not a huge amount. I - I do what I can right now.” 

 

“And,” Adam says, isn’t sure why he feels the need to defend Ronan to Ronan, “you live out of town, not the easiest for getting a job.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan snorts, “you probably got the only job close to me.” 

 

Adam laughs, “Suck it,” he says, “you’d have to fight me for this job.” 

 

“I’ll fight you,” Ronan grins at him, “I’ll lend you some boxing gloves and we can go at in the barns.” 

 

“Yeah, nah,” Adam snorts, “no way in hell, Lynch.” 

 

“Oh come on,” Ronan says, something weird happening to his voice, “I’ll teach you to fight.” 

 

“Nah,” Adam says, “not my scene.” 

 

“Or,” Ronan says, the weirdness getting louder, “I could at least teach you to defend yourself.” 

 

“No,” Adam says. “Drop it.” 

 

Ronan drops his head back down on the counter with a thunk, drops the topic as well, leaving a loud and heavy hole in the conversation. 

 

The door bangs open, and a rain dripping couple comes in, so Adam gets an easy excuse out of the failing conversation. He gets them towels and water and menus, brings Ronan his doughnuts, takes the couple’s orders, makes a couple of coffees, mops up the water near the entryway, brings the food the couple had ordered, greets someone else who just came in, made him his coffee, put a heavy towel on the floor by the door for people to drip on. Ronan has barely touched his doughnuts. He’s got his head on the his arm on the counter, is staring blankly in front of him. Adam returns to the counter. 

 

“Told you more people would come,” Adam says and Ronan snorts at him. 

 

“If you’d closed early they wouldn’t have,” Ronan replies. 

 

“Well no,” Adam says, “they would have just kept driving, cold, hungry, and tired.” 

 

Ronan grunts, then he says; “Change the radio station.” 

 

“To what?” Adam asks. 

 

“Anything else but this,” Ronan says, “I swear I’m going to have nightmares about this drivel.” 

 

Adam rolls his eyes, but then reaches under the counter for the radio dials, and hesitates. “Come round here,” he says, “and change it yourself.” 

 

Ronan looks at him. 

 

“Oh,” he says, “you’re gonna let me break the rules?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “because I don’t want to deal with you whining when I change it to wrong station or whatever.” 

 

Ronan gets up, vaults himself over the counter like an asshole, and then crouches down next to Adam to fiddle with the radio. 

 

“Turn it to something offensive or gross and I will lock you in the bathroom,” Adam warns him. 

 

“Ye of little faith,” Ronan says. 

 

“You haven’t given me any reason to have faith about your music tastes,” Adam jibes back. He’s being waved at by the couple. “I’ll be back,” he says, “behave yourself.” 

 

The couple want more coffee to go, and a bag of their doughnut holes to go as well, and then their bill. Adam provides. Ronan turns the radio onto some sort of soft rock that Adam doesn’t recognize. It doesn’t immediately drive the few customers from the diner, so Adam doesn’t care. 

 

Ronan  brings up a new video game he’s interested in. They chat about that for the remainder of Adam’s shift. Much easier than trying to skirt around topics that one or both of them didn’t want to address. 

 

-

 

On the way home, Ronan very purposefully speeds through huge puddles, sending sheets of water in the air, and Adam doesn’t bother pretending he disapproves, just laughs and eggs him on. 

 

He had expected the house to be dark when they got to it, but the porch light was on, and he could see lights inside the house as well. Aurora met them in the hallway, dressing gown on, hair loose around her shoulders. 

 

“I’ve set up a bed for you in Ronan’s room,” Aurora tells Adam, after wrapping him in a quick hug of hello, “make sure you lend Adam some pajamas, Ronan,” she says to Ronan, “I’m off to bed now, just wanted to make sure you both got in ok.”  She kisses Ronan on the forehead, and then turns to head towards the stairs. She pauses again on the bottom step to say, “And Ronan, dear? Clean your room, will you?” 

 

-

 

Everything that was on Ronan’s floor is still on Ronan’s floor, it’s just been shoved so there’s a small wall of clothing and detritus  about a metre away from where the mattress made up for Adam is, showing off that Ronan’s floor is actually hard polished wood. 

 

“Do you want a sleep shirt?” Ronan asks, “Or just pants.” 

 

“Just a top,” Adam says, yawns, stretches, and drops his bag down onto the clear space beside the mattress, “I’ll sleep in my undies.” 

 

“Your junk’ll get all sweaty,” Ronan says. 

 

He steps around Adam and over the clothes barricade to his chest of drawers. It was really a miracle that there were any clothes left in the drawers when there were so many on the floor. 

 

“My junk appreciates your worry,” Adam says, dropping to his knees onto the mattress, and then just letting himself fall face first against the bed spread, “but I’ll be fine.” 

 

“Your junks’ funeral,” Ronan says, tosses a soft loose shirt at Adam, landing it on Adam’s head. “We’ve got spare toothbrushes in the bathroom if you wanna go change in there and brush your teeth or whatever while you’re at it.” 

 

“Mm,” Adam says, “ok.” This means standing up. He doesn’t want to stand up again today. 

 

“Get out,” Ronan says, “I want to get changed.” 

 

“I’ll keep my eyes shut,” Adam suggests. 

 

Ronan nudges him in the ribs with his toes, “Get out,” he repeats, “go brush your teeth so you don’t stink up the room in the morning with doughnut breath.” 

 

“You were the one eating the doughnuts,” Adam grumbles, but pushes himself up onto his knees, and rolls off of the mattress onto the floor to stand up. “I’ll leave you and your weird body to change in peace, then,” he says. 

 

“My body’s not weird!” Ronan calls after him. Adam shuts the door. 

 

He finds the spare toothbrushes under the bathroom sink. Changes, pisses, splashes water on his face, brushes his teeth, and then returns to Ronan’s room. Before he can knock, Ronan opens the door and brushes past him to head to the bathroom himself. He’s changed, out of his usual t-shirt and jeans attire into a long sleeved shirt and baggy pants. It looks altogether too cozy an outfit for summer, but, the airconditioning here is amazing. He goes into Ronan’s room, climbs in under the blankets on his makeshift bed. Swears out loud at the ceiling. This mattress is more comfortable than Adam’s bed by a mile. Make that a hundred miles. More. 

 

There are stars speckled on Ronan’s ceiling, galaxies of them, alongside small plastic planets. It takes Adam a few long moments of looking to realise that it is actually set out like their solar system, everything circling around the light in the middle of the ceiling acting as the sun. He’s looking forward to the light being turned out so he can see what night time in Ronan’s room looks like. 

 

Ronan returns a few minutes later, smelling minty but looking vaguely sour. He pauses in the doorway and looks at Adam already tucked into bed. 

 

“Lights out?” he grunts. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, lifts his eyes to the ceiling again to watch as it springs to life when Ronan turns the light off. It’s pretty fucking awesome. 

 

Ronan shuts the door behind him, crosses the room in a leap and a bound, and gets in under his own covers. He’s still for a moment, and then he gets up again, edges his way around Adam’s mattress, and opens his window wide. 

 

“Chainsaw’s not in yet,” he says in way of confusing explanation as he picks his way back to his bed, “have to leave the window open for her in case she wants to sleep inside tonight.” 

 

“What?” Adam asks, “Who?” 

 

“Chainsaw,” Ronan says, as if this is a normal thing to say at midnight when you’re actually not telling horror stories, “my raven.”

 

“Your raven is called Chainsaw,” Adam says, “ok. Uh. Do I need to worry about her attacking me when she comes in?” 

 

“No,” Ronan grunts, “not unless you have bacon in your pockets.” 

 

“I don’t have pockets right now,” Adam says. 

 

“Then you’ll be fine,” Ronan snorts, then, “we can drive you into town pretty early. We’ve got church at eight.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, because, he had not at all, at all, at all expected that. “Ok.” 

 

Ronan rolls over loudly above him, sheets rustling. 

 

“I have work at the factory at eight,” Adam says, “so, that should work out fine.” 

 

“Would you have just gotten up and biked out there in the morning if I hadn’t said that?” Ronan asks. 

 

“Probably,” Adam says, “if the roads were clear enough.” 

 

“We might have to take the truck,” Ronan tells him. 

 

“There’s not enough room in the truck,” Adam snorts, “not for all of us and your mum.” 

 

“You better not be leading up to a yo’ mama joke, Parrish,” 

 

“The hell?” Adam says, “You’re so paranoid, Lynch. I’m just saying that the four of us last time almost burst the seams of the truck. We couldn’t fit a raven in there with us.” 

 

“I’ll just put you on my knee,” Ronan sneers, “you’re pretty skinny, it’ll be fine.” 

 

“Oh fuck off,” Adam says, “if anyone’s going on a knee it won’t be me.” 

 

“Chicken shit,” Ronan says. 

 

“If you say so,” Adam says, “what church do you guys go to?” 

 

“St Agnes,” Ronan replies, “do you know it?” 

 

“No,” Adam admits, “where is it?” 

 

“A few blocks over from Boyd’s, actually,” Ronan says, “that’s where I was - y’know when I was suspiciously parked outside Boyd’s when you rang? I was coming from there.” 

 

“Oh?” Adam says, “It wasn’t Sunday.” 

 

“They don’t just do confession on Sundays,” Ronan grumbles. 

 

“Oh right,” Adam says, frowns up at the milky way above him, “it’s a Catholic church, then?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says. 

 

“And you actually go to confession?” Adam asks. 

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan grunts. 

 

“I thought that just happened in like… movies,” Adam says. 

 

“Well you thought wrong,” Ronan says. 

 

“Does it help?” Adam asks before he can help himself, “Or is it just… what you do because it’s tradition?” 

 

Roan is silent for a long time. Glancing up at him, Adam can see his profile limned in faint light coming through the open window - the barest of moonlight. His eyes are open. 

 

“I don’t know, anymore,” Ronan says, “everything is different, now.” 

 

Adam feels like he’s missing a vital piece of information here. Or several pieces. He feels like he’s got a jigsaw, and he’s put together the entire frame but he has no idea what goes in the middle. 

 

“Now what?” Adam asks. 

 

Ronan sighs. Swallows loudly. Sighs again. He rolls away from Adam. 

 

“I told you my dad’s dead,” he says, “it only happened a couple of years ago.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. Then, because Ronan seemed averse to consolatory words, he says, “How?” 

 

He watches as the shape of Ronan on the bed above him tightens, blankets being drawn up further over his body until it covers him entirely, and he’s just a darkened lump. When he speaks, his voice is muffled. 

 

“He got mixed up in a bad deal. Things went shit. They smashed his head in. In the driveway.” 

 

Adam actually does not know how to respond to this. He stares at what he thinks is Ganymede. 

 

“That,” he says after a long moment in which he’s recalled various planetary maps he’s studied and is about 99% sure that it is indeed Ganymede, “is a lot.” 

 

Ronan makes a noise which sounds a little bit like a hysterical snort. 

 

Adam hedges his bets. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. Ronan doesn’t reply. Adam stares at Jupiter. Ronan’s somehow managed to make it so that the eye glows red. “Did they catch the guys who did it?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says. “They put away the guy who  _ did _ it. The guy who made it happen is too rich though. He got away.” 

 

It’s interesting hearing Ronan say someone was too rich, that must mean an astronomical amount of wealth. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Adam says again. “That isn’t fair.” 

 

“Life isn’t fair,” Ronan snaps. 

 

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Adam replies, has to hold himself back from snapping it straight back. His woes need to be on the back burner right now. He cannot compare and contrast this. He should not. 

 

The situation is alleviated right then, by a large dark shape swooping in through the window and landing with a clatter on Ronan’s desk. Adam almost shits the bed. 

 

“Chainsaw,” Ronan says. 

 

-

 

The road is apparently drained enough the next morning that they can take a vehicle with more seats than the truck in. They drive into town in a pale blue ford that smells like lavender, Aurora at the wheel. There’s no trace of the storm left in the sky, and even at seven thirty the sun is already hot. The Lynch’s drop Adam and his bike off at work, drive on to church. 

 

Adam goes from his shift at the factory to his shift at Boyd’s, only cycling home again that evening. The sun is still brutally hot, and he’s sweated himself a small swamp by the time he gets home for his chores. He does his chores. He showers. He wishes he’d had the foresight to get up even earlier than he had that morning, to shower in Ronan’s shower. Sure, he would have ruined its effects by now with sweat and grease, but at least he could have started his day fresh. The shower here in the trailer was pathetic by comparison. Well. It was pathetic by itself as well. It was about as effective as having a small dry mouthed dog lick you. He goes to bed. It’s still early, ish, but he has no desire to stay up doing nothing but taunting his parents with his presence. He has no homework, he has nothing to do. 

 

He lies in bed and thinks about all the shit in Ronan’s room. All the stuff he has to do if he’s bored. Instruments, music, video games, whatever all that shit was over his desk, his bird. Even just getting to look up at his ceiling. Adam has his homework, and an old transformer. And his head. Those are his assets. Not amazing. He just wants to sleep. 

 

-

 

Ronan is outside Boyd’s the next day when Adam finishes his shift. Adam doesn’t bother asking why. They go to the empty parking lot again, Ronan carries on teaching Adam to drive shift. Ronan somehow persuades him to drive by himself while Ronan hangs onto the dolly roped to the back of the BMW. Ronan somehow persuades him to get on the dolly himself while Ronan drives. They end up with matching rope burn and gravel grazes, and Ronan laughs at his scowl until Adam breaks and laughs back. Ronan wants to get pizza, Adam has to go home. Ronan drops him off home. 

 

-

 

Tuesday they agreed to meet up after Adam’s factory shift. He doesn’t start at Boyd’s until later, and Ronan forces Adam into the driver’s seat, and Adam drives them around town while Ronan pumps horrible music and rolls down his window to grin manically at horrified pedestrians. Adam has to trust that no one can see through the tinted window to see that it’s  _ Adam _ at the wheel. He drives himself to Boyd’s, waves Ronan goodbye. 

 

-

 

Wednesday Adam has the afternoon entirely off and he somehow ends up with Ronan going to his friend’s abandoned factory to water the plants. 

 

It’s an experience. 

 

Ronan leads him up a dusty staircase, fumbles with keys to open the door. 

 

“If you shoulder the door just right,” Ronan says, shoving the key in, “it opens anyway, but Gansey gets mad, so I have to use the keys.” 

 

Adam snorts. “I’m not surprised he gets mad,” he says, follows Ronan inside to one of the weirdest looking places he’s been in. 

 




 

There’s a bed right in the middle of the room. There are piles of books everywhere. There’s a pool table. Just standing haphazardly at an angle to everything else, books on top of it as well. Ronan weaves his way through book piles and oddly placed furniture to a large desk alongside one wall. It too is covered in books, and paper, and the plants Ronan is supposed to be watering. Adam thinks they’re all mint plants. 

 

“Gansey eats them,” Ronan says, flicks at a leaf on one of the plants, and then turns away from the desk to head towards a door nearby. “Check this shit out,” he says, looking over his shoulder to grin at Adam. 

  
Adam follows, leans in over Ronan’s shoulder to look into the room Ronan’s just opened up and is waving his hands in a huge flourish at. It takes Adam a while to realise what he’s looking at. 

 

“What the hell,” he says loudly, “is this a kitchen in a bathroom?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says with a wide grin, “fucking ridiculous, yeah?” 

 

“Kinda disgusting,” Adam says. 

 

“They mostly live off fast food,” Ronan says, walking into the bathroom/kitchen/disaster to the sink where he fills a glass of water, “so they don’t think the kitchen is a very valuable part of their flat.” 

 

“Right,” Adam says, “so just stick it in with the toilet. Good idea. The pool table is valuable, though?” 

 

“Oh yes,” Ronan says, “it’s better for posing on then the fridge.” He’s made his way back to Adam still in the doorway, and shoves him with his hip to get past, then walks over to the desk with the glass of water in his hand. “Anyway, they haven’t died yet,” he says as he carefully tips water into the mint plants, “so it’s fine.” 

 

“Yet,” Adam repeats darkly, glances one more disbelieving look over the room, and then follows Ronan back to the desk, where he pokes at one of the watered plants. “How come he has so many?” 

 

“So that he doesn’t kill them,” Ronan says, puts the now empty glass down on the desk, and pokes through a pile of papers. “He has a very special plucking system so he doesn’t just pluck one plant bare and kill it. He used to just have one at a time and this place was chock full of dead mint plants. He was very sad about it.” 

 

Adam snorts, watches as Ronan lifts himself up to sit on the edge of the desk. “Why does he even eat the leaves anyway?” he asks, “He could just buy mint chewing gum?” 

 

“It’s a habit,” Ronan shrugs, “in my opinion they taste pretty fucking gross, but it - he says it helps.” 

 

Adam shrugs as well, tries to re-stack the papers Ronan had disturbed. “What’s with all the books and paperwork?” he asks. 

 

“Gans likes to think he’s an archeologist. Or a historian. Or both,” Ronan says, he’s smiling but it’s not a teasing smile. “He loves finding shit out. He’s always got his nose buried in weird facts about places. Right now he’s dead set on finding the burial place of some ancient king, Glendower, who is apparently buried in Henrietta somewhere.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, “that sounds cool.” 

 

“He’s a huge fucking nerd,” Ronan says, still smiling. 

 

“You miss him?” Adam asks. Ronan snorts loudly. 

 

“Of course,” he says harshly. 

 

“What about Noah?” Adam asks. He’s heard less about Noah, but what he has heard has always been said in the same fond voice Ronan uses to talk about Gansey. 

 

“I miss him too,” Ronan says, glances around the room as if he half expects his friends to materialise there, “I fucking hate the holidays.” 

 

Adam can relate, though, he thinks, not at all in the ways he ought to. 

 

“At least you don’t have to go to school,” he says, because he hasn’t known Ronan for long, but he’s definitely picked up that Ronan does not appreciate school in the slightest. 

 

Ronan grunts. He’s studiously looking away from Adam. 

 

“I don’t go,” he says. 

 

“What?” Adam asks, “I thought you went to Aglionby?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says. “I quit. I haven’t been for a year.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. 

 

“So,” Ronan grits out, “is this where you and your geek brain tries to convince me I’m an idiot for quitting?” 

 

Adam frowns. “Why would I?” he asks, “I don’t know why you quit.” 

 

Ronan’s looking at him now.

 

“What does your mum think?” Adam asks, “She’s ok with you quitting?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “she gets it. Declan thinks I’m an idiot for it. Gansey is disappointed.”

 

Adam doesn’t know if he gets it, because, again, he doesn’t know why Ronan quit. 

 

“What do you wanna do?” Adam asks. 

 

Ronan makes a clicking noise with his mouth and hops off of the desk. “I wanna play pool,” he says, striding across the room. 

 

Adam pushes himself away from the desk and follows. 

 

“Well,” he says, “that works. But I meant, in the future.” 

 

Ronan looks at him as if Adam’s betrayed him. “Why?” he asks. He’s picking up piles of books and dumping them on the ground before reaching under the table for the balls and cue sticks. 

 

“Because I’m interested,” Adam says, accepting the stick Ronan hands him, “you don’t need to have a five point plan to tell me,” he continues, “I just mean, what do you  _ want _ .” 

 

Ronan exhales loudly, concentrates on arranging the balls on the felt. 

 

“I don’t know,” he says eventually, “I just want - ha - I want things to be different.” 

 

Adam watches him, then paces around the table. “Different how?” he asks.

 

Ronan gestures for him to start the game off, and Adam concentrates hard on remembering how to hold the stick properly. 

 

“When my dad was around,” Ronan says, voice loud suddenly, “I had this dumb shit plan of becoming a musician.” Adam misses the ball with his stick entirely, and Ronan barks out a bite of laughter. 

 

Adam realigns his stick, tries again, balls cracking against each other loudly, and grinning as a ball drops into a bag. Ronan swears. 

 

“What kind of musician?” Adam asks, stepping away from the table now and looking at Ronan, “I’ve got smalls, by the way.” 

 

“I know, I have eyes.” Ronan says, shuffling around the table as he eyes the formation on the table up, “Uh, I don’t know. Some kind of rock band. I wanted to do vocals. Vocals and bass.” 

 

“You sing?” Adam asks. He leans down against the table on the opposite side to Ronan, trying to figure out which option Ronan would go for. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan grunts, “used to do competitions.” 

 

Adam remembers seeing a box of medals on the desk. “Won lots?” he asks. 

 

Ronan shrugs, hits balls together and then swears triumphantly as he gets a ball in a pocket immediately. 

 

“How come you don’t wanna do that, anymore?” Adam asks. Watches as Ronan lines up another shot. 

 

“‘Cos,” Ronan grunts, “I’m not a fucking child anymore.” The balls clack heavily together, bounce off the edge of the pocket, don’t go in. Ronan swears again, less triumphant. 

 

“Most people in bands aren’t children,” Adam points out. He already has his shot lined up in his mind, and he walks quickly around the table and squints as he lines his stick up with the balls. He shoots, and the balls click, one, two, into the pocket. Ronan swears loudly. 

 

“Sure,” Ronan says, “but most people who want to be in a band are.”

 

“Were Gansey and Noah in your band?” Adam asks, lines his next shot up and knocks it easily into the pocket. 

 

He might not have Ronan’s money, or resources, but he does have years of experience watching his father play in the pub, of his father insisting he plays too, because it’s manly. There were very few moments in his life in which Adam and his father got on, and so, he had worked hard on making sure that moments like that were moments in which he would not disappoint his father. Therefore, he was fucking good at Pool. Ronan swears again. 

 

“No,” he says, “Gansey can’t play for shit, and Noah can’t keep a beat to save his life.” 

 

Adam leans down over the table, he has an ambitious shot in mind, thinks he can make it. 

 

Ronan is very suddenly is at his side. Adam hadn’t heard him moving in next to him, and this time he swears loudly, literally drops his stick, and all but falls backwards. How. Fucking. Embarrassing. 

 

“Shit,” Ronan says, “shit, dude, you ok?” 

 

“God,” Adam snaps, pulls himself quickly back upright, and then ducks down again to pick up the cue stick. “Yes. Sorry. You startled me.” 

 

“I startled you?” Ronan says, “How?” 

 

“You were like a fucking panther,” Adam snaps back at him, “just appearing like that.” 

 

Ronan is looking at him like he’s a little insane, “I walked,” he says, “noisily.” 

 

Adam purses his lips. 

 

“I’m deaf,” he says. Ronan’s expression twists in confusion, and Adam hurries to clarify. “Partially,” he says. “I can’t hear shit out of my left ear. I didn’t hear you walking up. I wasn’t looking at you so I didn’t realise - I - yeah.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says. “I didn’t know.” 

 

“How would you,” Adam says. He’s clearing his throat loudly, trying to make sure he doesn’t keep snapping. He doesn’t want to be snapping. 

 

“That why you don’t like when I play loud music?” Ronan asks. 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I don’t like when you play loud music because you have terrible taste in music.” 

 

“You’re so rude,” Ronan says, “take your fucking turn already, will you?” 

 

Adam does. Grateful. Not grateful enough that he misses on purpose. He has two more shots before Ronan gets to go again . 

 

“Do you still play bass?” Adam asks, leaning against the wall as Ronan stretches out along the table. 

 

He’s obviously showing off his form, which is perfect, even if his skill set isn’t quite up there with Adam’s. He knows how to stretch just so, so that his shirt rides up and his biceps bulge. 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, “A bit. I couldn’t for a while because I - uh -” he pauses, takes his shot. The ball lands in the pocket and Ronan flashes a grin at Adam, then leans back in over the table. He doesn’t continue talking. 

 

“You couldn’t for a while,” Adam presses. He wants to know. 

 

Ronan fumbles the next shot, his cue stick flicking past the ball he was aiming for and clacking into another one, sending balls flying askew and none into a pocket. He scowls, stands up straight. Stepping back, he holds his stick loosely in one hand, grips his worn leather bands around his wrist with the other. 

 

“I damaged the tendons in my wrists,” Ronan says, “I couldn’t play because I couldn’t move my hands properly, and then I couldn’t play for a while because the doctors were worried the tendons would break where they’d been fixed again. They’re ok now, but not great.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. His eyes flick to Ronan’s wrists, but of course, he can’t see anything because; A. the leather bands are in the way, and B. tendons are inside the wrist you dumbass. “How did you do that?” he asks. 

 

Ronan doesn’t reply. Or. He does. He drops his cue stick onto the table, scattering the balls further, and then turns to Adam. “Let’s get out of here,” he says. 

 

“Right before I win?” Adam asks, but puts his cue stick down as well and follows Ronan out the door. 

 

-

 

Ronan pulls out of the parking lot, just starts driving. Adam sits, stares out the window. He has time. He doesn’t need to know where they’re going. He is curious though, when they drive out of Henrietta. When they drive past the turn off in Singer Falls to the Barns. He doesn’t ask, just lets Ronan drive, because Ronan’s turned on music that isn’t the crashing slamming he usually puts on when Adam’s in the car. It’s soft and melodic, and Adam’s pretty sure it’s bass guitar. Eventually, when Ronan starts driving them up a long tree lined road, Adam cracks. 

 

“Where are we going?” he asks. 

 

“I told you I’d show you real waterfalls,” Ronan replies. 

 

“How far off is it?” Adam asks. 

 

“Thought you didn’t have work today?” Ronan asks. 

 

“I don’t,” Adam says, “I still want to know how long I’m going to be stuck in this car with you for, though.” 

 

“Another five,” Ronan says, “and it’ll be worth it. Dick.” 

 

“Ass.” 

 

-

 

It is worth it. The waterfall is huge. A cascade of water surrounding by green and lush trees. The water gathering in a deep looking clear pool and then trickling away further down the hill. Ronan gives him five minutes of just looking and taking in the sights, of getting used to the crash of water. Then he pushes him into the pool. 

 

“Fuck you!” Adam splutters, resurfacing a moment later and blinking icy water out of his eyes, “fuck you!” 

 

Ronan grins at him from the bank where he’s still standing, hopping on one foot as he yanks his pants off. 

 

“What would you have done if I couldn’t swim?” Adam asks. He’d doggy paddled to a more shallow part of the pool, thinking about getting out, but now he’d pushed back in the water and floated himself on his back further into the depth. The day was hot, and the water - though shockingly cold at first - was nice. 

 

“I would have jumped right in after you,” Ronan says plainly. He’s kicked his pants off to one side into a bush, and drops his shirt on top of it. “Saved you,” he smirks. He stands at the edge of the pool for a moment, in just his undies and his leather, and then dive bombs Adam. 

 

As soon as Ronan resurfaces, Adam splashes water in his face, and Ronan retaliates, and Adam retaliates, and it would probably just be a huge mess of retaliation if Adam hadn’t suddenly realised he was seeing Ronan’s bare back for the first time. He pauses, gets a mouthful of water for his efforts, coughs loudly, and then says; 

 

“Is that a tattoo?” 

 

Ronan looks surprised, and then he smirks. “Yeah,” he says, “like it?” 

 

“How big is it?” Adam asks, treading water to keep upright and close to Ronan so he can peer through the water at Ronan’s skin. 

 

“My whole back,” Ronan says, turning a little in the water so Adam has a better view.

 

“It’s -” Adam says, reaches out through water and touches at the dip of Ronan’s spine where he can see claws and feathers. Ronan’s body jerks in the water, but he doesn’t move away from Adam’s touch. “It’s beautiful,” Adam says, “when did you get it?” 

 

“A month after dad,” Ronan says matter of factly, “because I was angry and upset and reckless. It was a stupid decision.” 

 

“Do you regret it?” Adam asks, because the words Ronan are saying sound like regret, but the tone he wears doesn’t. 

 

“No,” Ronan says, “well. No. I regret doing it how I did it. Mum cried. But I like it.” 

 

“I’ve never understood getting tattoos on your back,” Adam says, “you can’t see it yourself.” 

 

“I didn’t want to see it,” Ronan says, “it’s for other people to see.” 

 

“What,” Adam says, “like a warning sign? Watch out? I’m scary?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says. He shifts away then, ducking down under the water and kicking away from Adam, splashing water in his face. 

 

-

 

They swim for about half an hour, and then drag themselves out onto large rocks on the edge of the pool, where the pool and the stream met, and lay themselves out on the hot stone to dry. Adam strips off his shirt and his trousers, lies them out on their own separate rocks to dry, makes sure to curse at Ronan a little bit again for tossing him in fully dressed. 

 

Ronan doesn’t seem to even notice the cuss out, he’s too busy staring. Adam wants to point out that it’s rude too stare, but, he knows what Ronan is staring at, and he knows how hard it is not to stare. 

 

“What happened?” Ronan asks eventually, once Adam is lying back down on his boulder, head pillowed on his arms. 

 

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Adam says, and Ronan grunts. 

 

“Ok,” he says, “your ribs. Pretty sure ribs aren’t supposed to look like that. Or what about the bruises? Are they still from the first time I met you? They don’t look that old. Or, how about the scars? Were you in a car accident? That’s a lot of -” 

 

“God,” Adam says, “when I said be more specific, I meant drop it.” 

 

Ronan huffs loudly. Adam turns his head on his arms so he’s facing away from Ronan, closes his eyes. It’s silent for a while, save for the thunder of water, the sound of birds and insects, and then Adam hears Ronan shifting on his rock. Hears a faint noise, almost like the slither of a snake on stone. He turns around to look at Ronan sitting up, undoing his leather bracelets, knot by knot, and dropping them onto the wet stone beside him. When he sees Adam is looking at him, he huffs loudly. 

 

“What are you doing?” Adam asks. 

 

“Showing you how I damaged my fucking tendons,” Ronan says. 

 

“What?” Adam asks, “The hell?” 

 

“God,” Ronan snaps, undoes a final knot on his band, drops that into the pile of his bracelets, and then turns to Adam, holding his one bare wrist out to him. 

 

It isn’t a bare wrist, even devoid of leather. It’s a mangle of knotted skin and angry looking scars. It looks savage, and, unmistakable.

 

Adam looks at it, and then at Ronan’s face, and then back down at the scars. Ronan is giving him a secret, and he wants one in return. He reaches out, takes Ronan’s wrist in his hand, runs his thumb over the base of Ronan’s hand where the scarring is worst. 

 

“When?” he asks. 

 

“Eight months ago,” Ronan replies. 

 

“Why?” he asks, even as he knows how stupid that question is. Ronan doesn’t pull away, but his hand curls into a fist. He doesn’t answer, so Adam speaks again; “Do you still -?” he asks. 

 

“No,” Ronan snaps, and now he pulls away, presses his wrist against his chest, covers it with his other hand, that wrist still strung with leather. “I don’t want -. I won’t.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, swallows. He feels like the forest around them is quiet, like it’s holding its breath. In reality, the birds are still singing, the bugs are still screaming. Everything is noisy around him. “I’m glad,” he says. 

 

“Shut up,” Ronan says. 

 

“Seriously,” Adam says, uncomfortable, “I’m glad that it didn’t - I’m glad I got to meet you.”  

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says. 

 

Adam sighs. Glances down at himself, and then sits up straight so the strange dips in his ribs can be seen easily, the oddly shaped scars along his sides, on his shoulders. 

 

“My dad drinks,” he says, “he gets angry when he drinks.” 

 

Ronan looks at him. Doesn’t look at the marks on Adam’s skin, just looks at his face. 

 

Adam shrugs. “Sometimes,” he says, “he gets angry when he’s not drinking as well.” 

 

Ronan nods. 

 

“I’m going to finish school,” Adam says, “and then I’m going to get into some good university as far away from here as possible, and I’m never coming back.” 

 

Ronan nods again. Then says; “Is that why you’re deaf? Or is that something else.” 

 

“It’s why,” Adam says. 

 

His stomach hurts. He shifts on his rock, then slips back into the water, pushing himself under and away, only resurfacing when he’s nearer the waterfall than Ronan. He inhales roughly, flicks his hair up out of his eyes, and then turns in the water so he’s floating on his back, staring up at the blue above him. He didn’t think it’d hurt that much to say this out loud. Most people knew anyway, it wasn’t a secret. It can’t have been as terrifying to say as what Ronan had told him. The sun goes behind a cloud, and it’s too cold in the water without it, so Adam flips in the water again, splashes his way back over to the rocks where Ronan is still seated, hunched over his knees. 

 

“Are you cold?” Ronan asks. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, pulls himself out of the water back onto the rock, presses as much of his wet skin against the damp rock to try and suck the heat out of it into his body. “Are you ok?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says. He’s put his bracelets back on. “Wanna head back to mine?” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Ronan says, and Adam frowns against the rock, shakes his head. Ronan ignores him. “I didn’t mean to make you tell me shit you didn’t want to talk about. I mean, I did - but I didn’t - ” 

 

“It’s whatever,” Adam says, “tit for tat.” 

 

Ronan exhales. 

 

“Everyone else important in my life knows,” Ronan says, “they know everything about it.” 

 

“A couple of weeks is a short amount of time to decide I’m important,” Adam says. 

 

“It didn’t take me a couple of weeks,” Ronan says. He’s standing up, jumping from his rock to another one closer to the bank, “let’s go.” 

 

-

 

Adam’s wearing a jumper Ronan had in his backseat, and his own soaking jeans. His shoes are in the back, too soaked to put on. 

 

“I’ll lend you some clothes,” Ronan tells him, “and you can shower if you want.” 

 

“Ok.” Adam says, “thanks.” 

 

“Stay for dinner?” Ronan asks. 

 

“Um,” Adam says. 

 

“I’ll drive you home, after,” Ronan says. 

 

-

 

Adam stays for dinner. He showers, gets changed into the clothes Ronan offers him. They dry his clothes in the dryer downstairs, and, Adam could have got back into them, but he doesn’t. They play video games with Matthew. Ronan helps his mother in the kitchen while Declan talks to him about university options. They eat. Declan and Matthew do the dishes. Ronan takes Adam up to his room, plays him some music which he promises Adam will actually like. Adam actually likes it. Ronan drives him home. 

 

-

 

“Stay the night on Friday,” Ronan says. He’s pulled in at the driveway to Adam’s. “Come to mine after Poppy’s.” 

 

Adam shrugs, “Is this you trying to get me to bring you doughnuts, Lynch?” 

 

“Yes,” Ronan says, “will you?” 

 

“Bring you doughnuts? Sure.” 

 

“Stay the night,” Ronan says. 

 

“Sure,” Adam says again, undoes his seat belt. “Hey,” he says. 

 

“What?” Ronan asks. Now he’s got the answer he wants from Adam, he’s bent down to fiddle with the stereo. 

 

“Thanks for today,” Adam says, voice awkward, “for - y’know.” 

 

“Secrets,” Ronan mumbles. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says. 

 

He doesn’t know what he wants to say exactly. He knows he wants to say something, but all the words feel inadequate in his mouth. Thank you for telling me your secrets. Thank you for letting me tell you what’s wrong with me. Thank you for not running away? Thank you for letting me hang around a family that I’m not scared of? He leans forward instead, reaching out for Ronan. Ronan makes a small surprised noise when Adam touches him, and then another surprised noise as Adam pulls him into a short hug. 

 

“I’ll see you Friday, then,” Adam says, releasing him, grabbing his bag from the footwell, and pushing his door open, “pop the boot?” 

 

-

 

On Thursday he specifically seeks Blue out. He doesn’t have anyone else he can talk to about this sort of thing. The guys at the garage were fine, but most of them were years older than Adam and the only thing he had in common with any of them was skill with mechanics. No one at the factory wanted to talk. Poppy was seventy six, and while she was nice and all, he didn’t want to talk about anything more than work and biscuit recipes with her. 

 

Blue’s not at work today, which means he has to track her down. This isn’t as hard as it might sound - it being the summer holidays and neither of them having a cell phone. She could be anywhere. Where she is, however, is walking around Henrietta surrounded by about twelve dogs. He finds her about seven minutes into his bike around town in between shifts, and when he does, he hops off of his bike and wheels it towards her. 

 

The dogs let her know he’s approaching, half of them almost acting like guards, forming a circle around her, the others straining at their leashes because Adam looks like his hands are for patting. They’re right, and as soon as he’s close enough, he bends down on one knee to pat as many dogs as he can. 

 

“Adam,” Blue says, “you better not be trying to steal my dog walking job by changing their loyalties.” 

 

“Never,” Adam says, stands up, wipes his hand off on his jeans, and grins at her, “I was just looking for you,” he says. 

 

“Looking for any reason?” She asks. 

 

“Just to talk,” Adam says. 

 

“We can walk while we talk,” Blue tells him, “I’m not being paid to stand around with these dogs.”

 

She hands him some of the leashes, and he has to walk very carefully, pushing his bike with one hand, corralling dogs with the other. 

 

“Dog got your tongue?” Blue asks after they’ve walked half a block without speaking. 

 

“Are we friends?” Adam asks. 

 

Blue looks surprised. She frowns at him. “Why?” she asks, “Do you want to be?” 

 

“I guess,” Adam says with a shrug, “I mean - yes - I’m just not sure if that’s what we are already.” 

 

“I refer to you as my friend,” Blue says, “so yes. I guess we are.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

“Why?” Blue asks again. 

 

“I’m taking a survey,” Adam says. 

 

“Don’t be irritating,” Blue tells him. 

 

“Ask me to stay the night,” Adam says. He blurts it out without quite thinking it through first, and Blue stops in her tracks and just looks at him. 

 

“No,” she says, “what?” 

 

“I mean -” Adam falters, “sorry. Nothing is coming out right. I don’t actually need you to invite me round to stay at yours, I just want you to say the words to me.” 

 

“Can you please explain what on earth is going through your weird head?” Blue asks, “I know you’re crazy smart, but I wasn’t aware you were more crazy than smart.” 

 

“I want -” Adam starts, “ - I want to know how I feel when I hear a friend asking me that.” 

 

“You’re so strange,” Blue says, sighs heavily, starts walking again. “Stay the night at mine.” 

 

“No,” Adam says, “you have to ask. Sound like you mean it.” 

 

Blue huffs loudly, “I’m not an actor,” she says, then; “Stay over at mine?” 

 

Adam considers. Blue looks at him. 

 

“So?” she asks, “Did that make the cut?” 

 

“I think so,” Adam says, “I mean. It’s not a perfect scientific experiment, the contexts are wildly different, but.” 

 

“I don’t think I’m ever going to understand you, Adam Parrish,” she says easily, “is that all you wanted?” 

 

“Of course not,” Adam says, “I wanted to hang out with you.” 

 

“Don’t be a suck up,” she grins at him, then, “are you seriously hanging out with that Lynch boy?” 

 

“What?” Adam asks, maybe too quickly. 

 

Blue raises her eyebrows at him. “The one at the diner the other day,” she says, “or, all three of them, I suppose.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “Ronan. I know his brothers too, though.” 

 

“Huh,” Blue says. 

 

“What?” Adam asks. 

 

“They’re a bit infamous, y’know?” 

 

Adam did not know, actually. “How so?” he asks. 

 

“Just,” Blue shrugs, “everyone knows Matthew’s lovely, Declan’s a hard ass, and Ronan’s trouble.” 

 

“Well,” Adam says, because, he does know all of this but possibly not the way everyone else does. “What do you mean?” 

 

“I mean,” Blue says, “God, Adam, do you never listen to gossip? Everyone knows about Ronan’s drug addled drag racing. Didn’t you hear the rumours that it was his fault that Kavinsky kid died in the car crash last year?” 

 

-

 

He bikes to Ronan’s from Poppy’s at half past eight on Friday, just enough light left in the sky to see where he’s biking, just enough heat left that his t-shirt is enough. He’s got clothes for tomorrow and Ronan’s borrowed clothes in his backpack on his back. 

 

He sees Ronan before he’s even halfway up the driveway, or, he hears him, rather. He wouldn’t have been able to tell it was Ronan from this far if the dark smudge up in the field wasn’t swearing uproariously. He can’t make out what Ronan’s saying, apart from the fact that it’s very obviously cursing, and by the time he’s close enough to both see and hear Ronan properly, Ronan’s gone quiet, and Declan is walking away from Ronan. Declan sees Adam, waves, expression tight, and then continues on his way towards the house. Adam rides his bike to the first barn, parks, and then makes his way slowly over to Ronan who’s still standing in the field where Declan had left him. 

 

“Hey,” Adam says when he’s close enough that Ronan can’t just pretend he didn’t hear him, “what was that?” 

 

“Declan being an asshole,” Ronan snaps, turns a little away from Adam and kicks at a clump of hard dirt. “Fuck.” 

 

“You ok?” Adam asks. Ronan looks at him, laughs hollowly, and then drops himself down onto his ass and buries his head on his knees under his arms. “Ok,” Adam says slowly. Considers. Then he crouches down next to him, shifts until he’s sitting, and slowly puts an arm around Ronan’s shoulders. 

 

They sit like that for a few moments, in the quickly fading light, and then Ronan shifts a little and Adam makes to move his arm away, but Ronan is shifting towards him, lifting his arms to hook around Adam’s shoulders to pull him closer. Adam hugs him back, back aching with the way he’s twisted. 

 

“He thinks I should go back to school,” Ronan says, “that if I don’t I’m not gonna do shit with my life. That I’ll just be a - a drain on mum. That dad would be disappointed. That I’m not a good role model for Matthew.” 

 

Adam breathes. Ronan keeps talking. 

 

“I can’t go back,” he says emphatically, “I  _ can’t _ \- I’d - it makes me feel like I’m drowning.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, squeezes him a little tighter, “ok. You’re - you’re ok.” 

 

Ronan sniffs, then releases Adam. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, and then stands swiftly, offering his other hand to Adam. 

 

“Let’s go in,” he says, “we saved dinner for you.” 

 

-

 

Aurora is in the kitchen when they go in. She looks upset, but smiles when she sees Adam, and gets a loaded plate out of the oven for him. He chats with her for a while, about work, about the farm, about the weather, about his favourite classes at school. He wolfs the food down, hungrier than he thought he was, and she takes the plate off of him and waves the both of them upstairs. She catches Ronan by the elbow as they leave though, and Adam leaves them to it and goes to Ronan’s room alone. 

 

The mattress is made up on the floor again, and Adam drops down on to it. Chainsaw is already inside, perched on the edge of Ronan’s desk, cleaning her feathers. She eyes him up when he comes in, but appears happy enough to ignore him. Ronan comes in a few minutes later, drops down onto his own bed. 

 

“What do you wanna do?” Adam asks. 

 

“Dunno,” Ronan says. 

 

“Video games?” Adam asks. 

 

“Declan’s downstairs,” Ronan mumbles, he rolls over onto his side and looks at Adam, “I don’t want to be around him right now. Even if he is ‘speaking from a good place’.” He speaks the last words sarcastically enough that Adam knows he must be quoting his mother. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. He pushes himself up on his mattress, and then gets up to sit on the edge of Ronan’s bed instead, “Can I ask you something?” 

 

Ronan eyes him up suspiciously but nods. 

 

“I’ve -” Adam starts, looks over at Chainsaw still preening, “- I heard some things about you the other day.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says. His face has gone blank, like something has turned off in his eyes. 

 

“I didn’t realise you were so well known around town.” Adam says, attempts to say it lightly, but Ronan’s face doesn’t flicker, so Adam continues. “It’s all just rumours,” he says, “so I’m not just going to blindly believe -” 

 

“Just tell me what you fucking heard,” Ronan snaps, “just say it.” 

 

Adam shrugs. “I heard that you’ve got a drug problem. That you were in that huge pile up just out of town on the fourth of July last year. The one that that boy died in. That you were high when it happened.” 

 

When he looks back at Ronan, tearing his eyes away from Chainsaw who’s finished preening and is now just staring straight back at him, Ronan’s eyes are closed. His face is taut. 

 

“I have an alcohol problem,” Ronan says, “I never did the drugs. Not willingly, anyway.” 

 

Adam nods, remembers Ronan can’t see with his eyes closed. Says; “Ok.” 

 

“I don’t drink, now,” Ronan says, “because if I do I get fucked up. More fucked up. I was drunk on the fourth of July. I was with Kavinsky. I wasn’t driving. It wasn’t my fault he died.” 

 

He says this last statement so stiffly it sounds rehearsed. Like it’s something other people have said to him over and over until it stuck, but he couldn’t make it sound natural. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says again. 

 

“Everyone else was high,” Ronan says, “that’s probably where that rumour came from. They were always high. I did everything but get high. I was fucked up, man. I did fucked up shit. I fought people. I got in fights. Just with this one group. Because that’s what they did. Because it was ok with them. After Kavinsky died… mum - she made sure I didn’t go out with them anymore. That’s when - I - y’know.” 

 

Adam had not been expecting even half this much information. He reaches out, almost unconsciously, until his hand brushes against Ronan’s wrist. Ronan doesn’t move. 

 

“After that,” Ronan says, eyes still shut, “after that I got help. I let mum put more rules on me. I - I changed things.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, he’s curling his fingers slowly around the edges of Ronan’s leather bracelets. “No wonder you don’t wanna go back to school.” 

 

Ronan snorts. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Adam says , a weak offering, “I don’t know what to say.” 

 

“Say you understand,” Ronan says, “say I don’t have to talk about it ever again.” 

 

“I do understand,” Adam says, “mostly. And you don’t have to talk about it ever again if you don’t want to.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “are you trying to hold my hand?” 

 

“Kind of?” Adam admits, “I just - yeah?” 

 

“That’s pretty fucking gay,” Ronan says, turns his hand over on the bed, and shifts his arm up so that Adam’s hand shifts from his wrist to his hand. Adam holds his hand. “Was that all, then?” Ronan asks, “That’s all you heard?” 

 

“Is there more?” Adam asks, and Ronan snorts again. 

 

“No,” he says, “you know basically everything now. I just like knowing what bullshit people are saying about me.” 

 

“Ok then,” Adam says, then he says, “does Declan think we’re dating?” 

 

“What?” Ronan asks, finally opens his eyes, “Where did you hear that rumour?” 

 

“Nowhere,” Adam says, “just - I was wondering if he’s just extra  _ extra _ protective of you or if he thought we were dating when he told me that if I hurt you he’d end me.” 

 

Ronan looks beyond confused. 

 

“He what?” he says, “When?” 

 

“A while ago,” Adam admits, “when he drove me home the night we fell asleep on the couch.” 

 

Ronan continues to look confused. “Oh,” he says, “I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t know if he thinks we’re dating,” Adam says, “or you  _ didn’t  _ know that he thinks we’re dating.”

 

“A bit of both,” Ronan says, “does it bother you?” 

 

Adam elects to ignore this for now as he says; “Do you think we’re dating?” 

 

Ronan blanches. He looks like Adam’s just hit him. 

 

“Or,” Adam tries, “have you been trying to date me but I’ve just been… oblivious? Or am I being the idiot now and I’ve just read the last few weeks completely wrong.” 

 

“Do you want to have read them wrong?” Ronan asks. He’s tugging his hand away from Adam’s. 

 

Adam figures that if worst comes to worst he can always bike home. The weather was fine. 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I only realised that the other day, though.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says. 

 

“So?” Adam asks, “Are we dating?” 

 

“God, Parrish,” Ronan snaps, “we can’t be dating if we don’t start properly.” 

 

Adam frowns at him, then rolls his eyes, “you’re seriously going to make me ask? When you won’t even give me a proper answer about whether or not you want me to?” 

 

Ronan frowns back at him, and then pushes himself up on his elbows. 

 

“Go out with me,” Ronan says, “date me. I want to date you.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says simply, then, “I wasn’t sure if you were gay or not.” 

 

“Why,” Ronan says, “don’t I look gay?”  Adam rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” Ronan says, “I didn’t know if you were gay either.” 

 

“I’m not,” Adam says, “I mean - don’t look at me like that. I mean, obviously I like guys. I like girls too.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, then, “you seriously want to date me even though I just told you a fuck load of shit about me?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam shrugs, “I do.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

“God,” Adam says, “do I have to have a reason?” 

 

“No,” Ronan admits, “but I’d like to be flattered.” 

 

“Because,” Adam says, shuffles a little closer on his knees, “you’re an asshole. And I think that if you weren’t an asshole I wouldn’t have let you in. But because you are? You just fucking got in anyway, and I got to find out that I like your dumb humour, and that you’re fun to chat with, and that I like the way you smell, and that I want you to tell me all your shit because for some reason I find myself caring about you and your problems” 

 

Ronan appears to ignore most of this. He says; “You like how I smell?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, refuses to sound abashed, “like - you smell like outside. And hot.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“I said what I said,” Adam says. 

 

“I like how you smell,” Ronan says, “like gasoline. It’s sexy.” 

 

“Oh fuck off,” Adam snorts, can feel his cheeks heating up. 

 

“I’m not kidding,” Ronan says, “ I want to kiss you.” 

 

“Right now?” Adam asks, glances around at their surroundings. At Chainsaw watching them beadily. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says. He’s shifted a little closer again. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

Ronan kisses him. 

 

-

 

Adam gets up early the next morning to take a shower. He changes in the bathroom, and when he gets back, Ronan is still asleep, curled up under his blankets. Adam sits back down on his mattress, blankets still warm from where he’d been lying only ten or so minutes ago, and props his chin up on his hand, elbow on the side of Ronan’s bed. He doesn’t know what to do next. They hadn’t talked about next very much last night. They had kissed a lot until Ronan’s breathing got rough, and they took a break and Ronan showed him the original sketch for his tattoo, and then Adam had taken Ronan’s shirt off to look at the real one again, and then Ronan’s breathing had gotten even rougher and he had had to lie down on his bed while Adam put some music on and went to brush his teeth and get changed. They had kissed a little more after that before Adam decided they needed to sleep, and Ronan had pouted, but had immediately gotten into bed, rolled over, and shut up. Now, Adam was left wondering if Ronan would have somehow changed his mind over night. If one night of making out would be enough. He needs Ronan to wake up so he can ask what the game plan is. Also so Ronan can go downstairs with him to get breakfast and then drive him into town for work. He reaches out, pokes Ronan in the side. Ronan grunts but doesn’t wake up, he pokes him again in the cheek. 

 

“Stop,” Ronan grumbles, but opens his eyes to squint at Adam. 

 

“Hey,” Adam says, “wake up.” 

 

“I’m awake, dickass,” Ronan says, shuts his eyes again. 

 

“I’m hungry,” Adam says, “let’s eat.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, keeps his eyes shut. “But first -” 

 

“What?” Adam says. 

 

“Kiss me?” Ronan mumbles, “Kissing. Then breakfast.” 

 

Adam rolls his eyes, but then drags himself up so he’s perched on the side of the bed, leans down to kiss Ronan. Ronan, like a wild animal leaping from underbrush, explodes his arms out from under the covers, wraps them around Adam’s waist, and flips them over so he’s pinning Adam to the bed. Adam shrieks out, half laughter half shock. It’s quickly muffled by Ronan’s mouth on his again, and he means to pull back to tell him off for being a dick, but Ronan’s mouth is so warm against his and it sort of slips his mind. 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, a few long minutes later, “breakfast?” 

 

-

 

They eat breakfast, Ronan drives Adam to work, Adam works. 

 

-

 

It’s very difficult to focus on working, apparently, when all your mind wants to do is replay being kissed over and over and over again. His head is all Ronan’s face against his, and Ronan’s teeth catching on Adam’s lips, And Ronan’s hands hard against Adam’s sides. It’s funny, because the other day his head had been all too overwhelmed with just the single short hug he’d given Ronan. He’d hugged him goodnight, and then he’d gone to bed and been unable to get the feeling of Ronan out of his arms. Now he can’t get the feeling of Ronan off of his lips.

 

He’s not used to this kind of.... Obsession? Usually when he gets stuck in his own head it’s his mind replaying a handful of words his father spat at him that hit harder than most, or the unsettling frustration that comes from being so close to leaving but not close enough, never something like this. It’s not like he hasn’t touched people before, because, yeah, he’s touch starved, or whatever, but he’s kissed people before. He’s even got naked with people before. The touching he’d done with Ronan was naive and chaste in comparison, but. After the other people had left, once the touching had been done, it hadn’t stayed on his skin. Definitely hadn’t lodged itself into his brain on a loop. It’s frustrating as all hell. 

 

Work seems to take forever, and then, he has more work, because of course he does, and then he goes home and does his chores, and then? He’s too tired to even consider hopping on his bike in some sort of mad romantic dash to the barns just because he wants so badly to kiss Ronan again, so he goes to bed. 

 

-

 

On Sunday, Ronan is waiting outside the factory after his shift, fidgeting in the driver’s seat of his BMW. Adam doesn’t bother knocking or announcing his arrival, just opens the passenger seat side and gets in. He wants to immediately lean over the gap between them and kiss Ronan hello, but two things get in the way of this. Firstly, he’s right outside his work, in public, in a place that is probably not going to be very pleased about him kissing a guy. Secondly, Ronan is wearing his strange expression that Adam still doesn’t understand. Ronan doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at Adam, so Adam gets it out of the way. 

 

“Are we breaking up already?” he asks. 

 

“The fuck?” Ronan says, frowns heavily, “Do you want to?” 

 

“Do you?” Adam retorts. 

 

“No,” Ronan snaps, “what the fuck, Parrish? No hello? Straight to the breaking up? Are we, then?” 

 

“No,” Adam says, exhales loudly, feels a knot he hadn’t noticed in his stomach releasing. “Sorry. You just - you look - upset.” 

 

“Gansey’s coming back tomorrow,” Ronan says. 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. 

 

“I haven’t told him about you,” Ronan says. 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. 

 

“So,” Ronan says, “I - I don’t know - do you want to meet him tomorrow? After your shift? We could go out for dinner. Nino’s.” 

 

Adam had been half expecting Ronan to ask if they could stay a secret. He had certainly not been expecting this. 

 

“Oh -” Adam says, “- I - I guess?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, grins widely at Adam, “cool. Hi,” he adds on. 

 

“Hi,” Adam smiles back. Ronan leans over then, obviously for a kiss, and Adam quickly turns away, “hang on,” he says loudly, “if we’re gonna go somewhere I should grab my bike.” 

 

He opens the door, skedaddles out before Ronan can say anything. He fetches his bike, shoves it into Ronan’s boot, gets back into the passenger seat. Ronan’s looking out the window, a little pink. 

 

“Where do you want to go, then?” Ronan asks. 

 

“How about where you’ve been teaching me to drive?” Adam asks. 

 

“You want more lessons?” Ronan asks, turning the car  key and bringing the BMW to life, “You’re good enough. Or do you just wanna get to drive my pretty car?” 

 

“Something like that,” Adam says. 

 

They drive to the parking lot. It’s as empty as Adam hoped, overgrown bushes hiding the concrete interior from the world outside. It’s perfect for making trouble. As soon as Ronan’s parked, Adam opens his door and gets out. He ducks down to look in at Ronan. 

 

“Hop out,” he says, “we’re changing seats.” 

 

Ronan shrugs at him, but opens his car door and climbs out. Adam doesn’t walk around the car to get into the driver’s seat. Instead, he opens the back door and climbs in, beckons at Ronan through the window. Ronan pauses mid-step, face slack with surprise, and then taut with realisation. He opens the door and climbs in as well, shuffling along the bench like back seat until his knees knock against Adam’s. 

 

“I’ve got an hour before my next shift,” Adam says, already reaching for Ronan’s face, “I want to make out with you for most of that, if that’s ok?” 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, “yes.” 

 

Ronan comes easily, moving forward and towards Adam with the lightest touch, and Adam relishes in it - in the power he has without having to exert any effort or force. 

 

It’s a very light kiss at first, as if they have to check that yes, this is ok, and then Ronan opens his mouth a little against Adam’s, and Adam throws caution to the wind by wrapping his arms around Ronan’s waist and all but lifting him onto his lap. From there there is absolutely no way the kissing can be clarified as light. Partially because Ronan isn’t light, and his full weight is pressed down on Adam’s lap in a particularly pleasant kind of way and when Adam shifts his hands to brush up Ronan’s side underneath his shirt Ronan’s hips jolt forward in a hard and heavy movement. 

 

Adam doesn’t realise how in trouble either of them are until he’s got one hand down the back of Ronan’s jeans, and the other fumbling at Ronan’s jeans button. He’s not entirely sure where exactly he’s hoping to end up, other than bent at an odd angle because the backseat of the BMW isn’t the most spacious, but he knows he wants more skin. 

 

“God,” Ronan says, “God, God, wait - Adam wait,” he pants. His hands are fisted in the front of Adam’s shirt, pulling him closer even as he speaks. 

 

Adam, with effort, recalls his hands, pulls them both up to Ronan’s hips instead, and tips his head back against the seat to look up at Ronan. Ronan apparently loses his train of thought, because instead of continuing to speak, he just looks at Adam, and then bends in to bite kisses into the side of Adam’s neck. 

 

“Hey,” Adam says, moans it, actually. Clears his throat, attempts to stop his hips from trying to shudder up to grind against Ronan. “Hey, you good?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says against Adam’s throat, “I just - let’s not -” he says, stops to keep kissing Adam. 

 

“Ronan,” Adam says, finds it extremely difficult to concentrate when Ronan is alternately licking, biting, and sucking at his skin, “Ronan stop a minute.” 

 

Ronan stops immediately, sitting up straight on Adam’s lap, skin flushed. 

 

“Let’s not what?” Adam asks. 

 

Ronan shrugs. 

 

“Come on,” Adam says, squeezes Ronan’s hips, “let’s not take pants off? Let’s not touch each others dicks? Lets not have our first hand job in the back of your car?” 

 

Ronan flushes darker. 

 

“All of those,” he says roughly, “I mean - God - look, Parrish.  _ This  _ is all fine,” - he explains what ‘this’ is by rolling his hips hard against Adam’s - , “but I don’t want to go further than that yet. So. Pants. Stay on.” 

 

“Right,” Adam says, “that’s fine. You sure you’re good with  _ this _ , then?” he checks, reiterating the definition of ‘this’. Ronan groans, presses down against him. 

 

“Yeah,” he says, “I might have to do some laundry when I get home, but yeah.” 

 

“Good,” Adam mumbles, “ok, good.” 

 

-

 

In a better world, Adam would go back to the Barns with Ronan after this, and they could play video games, or hang with Matthew, or bake something, or go muck about in the fields. Instead, Adam drives them to Boyd’s, and he doesn’t kiss Ronan goodbye because they’re outside  _ Boyd’s _ , and honestly he should have talked to Ronan a little about that, but he hadn’t because they’d been busy getting each other hard and then busy cooling off because Adam can’t turn up at work with a stiffy,  _ or _ with obviously stained trousers. 

 

Adam works. Adam thinks about the look Ronan gave him when Adam turned his head away from the goodbye kiss. Adam works. Adam cycles home. Adam does his chores. Adam thinks about Ronan’s dick rubbing against his own through their jeans and how he almost fucking came in his pants. Adam jerks off extremely quietly, extremely quickly in the small bathroom, takes a quick shower, gets into bed. Adam thinks about the look Ronan gave him when Adam turned his head away from the goodbye kiss. He thinks that even though it was mostly hurt, at least part of it was understanding. He wishes he had a phone. He wants to do that couple thing. The texting goodnight thing. Using emoji hearts. He also wants to fucking jerk off again, God. 

 

-

 

He panics during his shifts on Monday. He shouldn’t be panicking. He’s already met all of Ronan’s family, meeting his friend shouldn’t be scarier. But he had met Ronan’s family before they were  _ together _ so it wasn’t such a big deal, and this was Ronan’s best friend. His best friend. Adam had thought people having best friends was a myth. He works. He wonders what Ronan is doing. He thinks about the car make out session. He wishes he hadn’t thought about the car make out session because now he is uncomfortable horny and fucking  _ hell _ why is he like this. He resents being seventeen. 

 

He feels like kissing Ronan had turned some dumb fucking switch in his brain. Yeah, he got horny before. Yeah, he  _ wanted _ people before. Yeah, he had been vaguely aware for the last couple of weeks that he was feeling something, but, what the  _ hell. _ What the hell. He’s pretty sure he, at the very least, isn’t supposed to fall head over dick for someone so quickly. He’s supposed to be sensible. He’s supposed to focus on making money and good grades and good decisions. He wants to be kissing Ronan. 

 

-

 

Ronan is waiting outside Boyd’s when Adam finishes up that evening. The BMW is parked across the street, and Adam pushes his bike up to it, waits by the boot for Ronan to click it open, puts his bike in, and then circles around the car to open the passenger door. 

The passenger seat is already taken. 

 

“Oh,” the boy in the seat says, “oh right, yes, of course, give me half a moment, I’ll let you sit here, just a moment -”  He has an open journal in his hand, papers spilling out of it as he speaks, and a low rich voice that Adam immediately associates with old money and old tv. 

 

“Nah that’s fine,” he replies, clipping his words as carefully as he can, “you’re good. I’ll sit in the back.” 

 

“Oh,” the boy - Gansey obviously - says. He sounds a little worried. He glances at Ronan, but Adam is already closing the passenger door and opening the back seat. “Thank you. I’m sorry, I hadn’t even considered that you’d want to sit here, which is foolish of me.” 

 

Adam smiles tightly at him, hoping it would be response enough. Ronan looks like he’s wincing. Gansey stretches his arm into the back of the car as Adam settles into the back seat very carefully not thinking about the previous days activity right here. 

 

“I’m Gansey,” Gansey says, wiggling his hand a little until Adam takes it and lets himself be shook, “I used to go to Aglionby with Ronan. I still go, I mean, but - yes. And you’re Adam?” 

 

“That’s me,” Adam mumbles, “good to meet you.” Ronan is watching him in the rearview mirror. “Should we go for dinner now, then?” 

 

“Yes,” Gansey agrees, he leans over to poke Ronan in the side, “let’s go, dude, I’m starving.” 

 

“You just want to get back to ogling Blue,” Ronan  mumbles, but starts the car up agreeably anyway. 

 

“So, Adam,” Gansey says. He’s barely even sitting in his seat. He’s leaning into the backseat, hand on the headrest of Ronan’s seat, “Tell me about yourself! You go to Mountain View? Ronan says you work? You’re a mechanic? What do your parents do?” 

 

Gansey is either nervous, entirely unaware, or just like this. 

 

“My father works in mechanics as well,” Adam says, “my mother works in retail. How about yours?” 

 

He regrets the question immediately as it leaves his mouth, and more so as Gansey’s answer leaves his. 

 

“Oh, my father dabbles, you know, but my mother is in politics.” 

 

Adam tries another smile. A polite one. 

 

“Can y’all stop being so fucking awkward?” Ronan suggests, grinding gears, “This doesn’t have to be so intense.” 

 

“Aren’t you worried we won’t like each other?” Adam asks, he leans forwards a little so he can meet Ronan’s eyes better in the rear view mirror, “kind of an intense moment, isn’t it?” 

 

“What? My boyfriend meeting my bestfriend? Could be a hell of a lot less intense, and you know it, fucker.” 

 

Boyfriend was new. 

 

“Ronan,” Gansey sighs, then turns to look at Adam, eyes narrowed, “are you alright with him calling you fucker? Or was he addressing me?” 

 

“He was definitely calling me fucker,” Adam confirms, “and yeah, if I wasn’t fine with it you’d both know.” 

 

“Alright,” Gansey says, “so tell me, what do you know about Welsh kings?” 

 

Adam can feel Ronan watching him through the mirror again. He grins a little. “We talking about Glendower?” he asks. 

 

-

 

At Nino’s he confesses that Ronan had told him about Gansey’s Glendower obsession, but Gansey doesn’t seem to mind because Adam is genuinely interested, because Adam is apparently asking the right questions, so. It does get less awkward. A bit. Still awkward though, because they don’t think about seating, and Gansey ends up sitting in between him and Ronan, and if Ronan looks disappointed Adam doesn’t even want to think about how he looks. Awkward because Blue comes over to take their order and narrows her eyes first at Ronan, and then more at Gansey, and then raises her eyebrows at Adam. Awkward because Gansey keeps saying things that Adam has no idea what the relevance is but it makes Ronan laugh anyway. Awkward because it’s just so obvious, sitting here with Gansey and Ronan, that Adam has only just met Ronan, and Ronan and Gansey have been in each other’s pockets for a long time now. 

 

Awkward because at the end of the dinner, Adam does like Gansey. He’s lovely, obviously worried about Ronan, interesting, good looking. Adam does like Gansey but he wants to spend some time with Ronan. Just Ronan. Gansey says; “How about the two of you come back to Monmouth? Ronan, you could stay the night here in town. Adam, you’re welcome to sleep over as well.” 

 

Adam wants to go to bed, or, he wants to go to Ronan’s for bed (and kissing), or, he wants to get into Ronan’s car and get kissed and then go home to his own bed because his own bed has no social needs from him. Adam says; “I’ll come over, sure.” 

 

-

 

Ronan informs Gansey that Adam has actually been to Monmouth before, Adam points out that keeping your fridge by the bathroom is actually gross, Gansey laughs and says he tries to make up his lost health points by how many pot plants he owns. Ronan chips in here that he ought to get some actual  _ pot _ plants like Noah wanted. Gansey gives him a look. Ronan shrugs. They park in the parking lot next to a bright orange monstrosity of a Camaro. When they get out, Gansey pats it affectionately and calls it the ‘Pig’. Ronan lingers by the side of the BMW until Gansey starts off towards Monmouth, and then he takes Adam’s hand and they follow. 

 

“Do you want to play pool?” Ronan asks as they follow Gansey into the flat, “Gansey sucks at it, we could make it into a fun game.” 

 

“If we’re playing pool,” Gansey calls, striding across the room and shrugging his jacket off as he did, “I’m sitting out. Let’s do something else.” He drops his jacket on his bed, and himself after it, shuffling to sit cross legged facing them. 

 

Adam is intensely aware of Ronan’s hand in his. They’re both a bit sweaty. Gross. 

 

“What kind of something else?” Ronan retorts. He doesn’t let go of Adam’s hand to kick his shoes off, “And I swear to God, if you suggest a board game -” 

 

“You’ll throw it out the window, I know,” Gansey says, rolling his eyes, “no. We’ve got video games? We could make pancakes? We could chat? We could tell ghost stories?” 

 

“Ghost stories are only fun when Noah’s around,” Ronan says, “he does all the creepy voices just right. Listen, Parrish, I swear we’re not actually this boring in real life.” 

 

“If this isn’t real life,” Adam says - he has to let go of Ronan’s hand to bend down to undo his sneakers - “What the hell is it?” 

 

“Dream world,” Ronan says as Gansey says; “A story.” 

 

“I want to hear more about Glendower,” Adam admits. He puts his shoes neatly by the door, kicks Ronan’s abandoned Docs over near them, and reaches back for Ronan’s hand. Ronan takes it. 

 

“God,” Ronan says, “you guys are boring. I wanna do something fun. Make stink bombs. Plant them in Noah’s bed. Do doughnuts in the parking lot. Lock Gansey in the bathroom and make out on his bed.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, “I would be down for the last thing, actually.” 

 

“Hey!” Gansey yelps, and then snorts at himself, “I veto the last thing. Not on my bed. You have a perfectly nice bed for yourself here, Ronan, if you’re gonna make out anywhere, it can be there.” 

 

“Would you be totally upset if I told you we’ve already made out on your bed?” Ronan replies, his grin very loud in his voice, “Like, right where you’re sitting now?” 

 

Gansey falls off the bed. 

 

“We didn’t,” Adam assures him, “we hadn’t gotten round to it. The desk, though -” 

 

“You guys are awful,” Gansey tells them firmly, “do you want to talk about Glendower or not, Adam?” 

 

“I do,” Adam says. 

 

“Ronan,” Gansey says, “go make popcorn.” 

 

-

 

Ronan calls his mother to tell her that he’s staying the night with Gansey, then Adam borrows his cell and goes to the bathroom to call his mother to say he wouldn’t be home that night. He doesn’t have a good excuse for himself as to why he’s staying out for the night when he could easily cycle, or even walk, home, let alone one for his mother. His excuse is that he wants to get into bed with Ronan and kiss him, but that is not something he can tell his mother. God. He really, really, really resents being seventeen. When he comes out of the bathroom, Ronan is perched on the edge of Gansey’s desk, Gansey standing by his knee, the two of them talking in low voices. Ronan is very pink. Gansey is very pink. 

 

“Your mum alright with it?” Gansey asks brightly when Adam scuffs his foot purposefully on the floor. 

 

“Yep,” Adam says, which is only technically a lie, “you gonna teach us that card game then, Ro?” 

 

Ronan teaches them the card game. It’s supposed to be a drinking game, but for obvious reasons they don’t play it as such. Gansey brings them canned whipped cream to use instead. Adam has no idea why he just randomly has canned whipped cream, but, whatever. They play until Adam feels like he’s going to throw up from the amount of cream he’s consumed, and Ronan calls him a lightweight, and then Adam has a shower and listens to Ronan and Gansey’s voices mingle with the drone of the shower. 

 

-

 

“Why do you have so many clothes here?” Adam asks once it’s just him and Ronan in what is apparently Ronan’s room. It’s definitely messy enough to be Ronan’s room. “In fact actually, why do you have a whole ass room here?” 

 

“I lived here for a bit,” Ronan says. He’s standing by the closed door, by the light switch, fiddling with his leather bands and looking at Adam who’s already under the blankets on the bed, “sometimes I stay over here when it’s too overwhelming at home.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “you gonna join me?”

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, says it very slowly, “you know,” he says, slower, “we’re just gonna… sleep together. Not  _ sleep _ together. Just sleeping. Yeah?” 

 

Adam stares at him. 

 

“Yes,” he says, “dipshit. I’m not gonna just… you said the other day we weren’t taking pants off, how the hell was I gonna jump from keeping pants on to fucking while your best friend is in the next room?”

 

Ronan scowls, but then he switches off the light and strides over to join Adam on the bed. “Just checking,” he says gruffly, scrambles under the blankets, “I just - I don’t wanna make any shitty mistakes.” 

 

Adam reaches for him, loops his arms around Ronan’s waist, presses close until his head is on Ronan’s shoulder, “Is this a shitty mistake?” 

 

Ronan snorts. “No,” he says. 

 

“I’m not gonna do anything you don’t wanna do,” Adam says into the dark. 

 

“Bold promise,” Ronan snorts, then shifts in Adam’s arms so they’re chest to chest, knees bumping into each other. “I know. Sorry. I know. Kiss me?” 

 

“Don’t be shitty,” Adam mumbles, drags one hand up to Ronan’s faces, slides his thumb down the side of his chek and then presses it against Ronan’s lips, “I wanna say something first.” 

 

Ronan exhales against his thumb, then says; “Ok.” 

 

“I work at a lot of… well. A lot of my co-workers are not the kind of guys I think would be, uh, cool with me having a boyfriend. I know you know that I purposefully avoided kissing you outside my work those times. That’s why. I just. I want you to know that it’s not about you. At all. It’s about - I’m  not ready to face the kinda flack I might get about it. I’m definitely not ready to be out to my parents, and if I’m out at like… the factory, or the trailer park, they’ll know. So. Is that ok?” 

 

He had been building up his little speech throughout the day, refining it and honing it all through work, whenever he was in the bathroom, while he showered just earlier. It did not come out as planned. 

 

Ronan is silent for a long moment, and then he shifts a little and kisses the pad of Adam’s thumb. “Yeah,” he says, “that’s ok. I figured. I was - yeah. I get it. I only came out to Gansey like.. This morning.” 

 

“You what?” Adam snorts, drops his hand from Ronan’s face, squeezes his side. Ronan yelps, then laughs. 

 

“It wasn’t important, before,” Ronan says, “I didn’t care before. I didn’t think it needed to be brought up until  _ you _ , and then I thought I should probably point out that I like guys. So like. I don’t need you to be out. I don’t care if I get outed, but I care what you want. So like. It can be a - a secret - but - are there people we can tell?” 

 

“Yes,” Adam says, says this as emphatically as he can, because he’s thought a lot about this as well, “absolutely. Anyone you trust, you can tell. Ok? Your friends, your family. I trust your judgement, so long as you - so long as you understand that it’s - it would be super - it would be bad if my parents found out. Ok?” 

 

Ronan is silent again. “Ok,” he says eventually. “You gonna tell your Blue friend?” 

 

“You can just call her Blue,” Adam snorts, “yeah. I think I will. I know she’ll keep it quiet. She’ll probably tell me I’m crazy, but.” 

 

“You are crazy,” Ronan agrees, “completely nuts. Kiss me now?” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

-

 

“Why,” Ronan says,  not opening his eyes but tightening his grip on Adam’s waist, “why are you getting up. It’s dark? Are you peeing? Pee later.” 

 

“I’ve got work,” Adam mumbles, hooks his fingers around Ronan’s so he can peel them off, “go back to sleep, ok? I’ve gotta get up. Let go. I’ll be back in a minute.” 

 

“Minute,” Ronan grumbles, but releases Adam, and appears to be asleep again by the time Adam’s unfolded and unraveled himself from the bed. 

 

He dresses quickly, snaffles Ronan’s car keys from his discarded jeans, goes downstairs to get his bike from Ronan’s boot, comes back upstairs to return the keys. Then he has to decide if he wakes Ronan up again to say goodbye. He decides yes, because, well, he doesn’t feel great about kissing someone who’s asleep, and fuck it he really wants to kiss Ronan. 

 

“The fuck,” Ronan says informatively when Adam nudges him into a semi awake state, “what? Why? Huh?” 

 

“I gotta go,” Adam whispers, “when do I see you next?” 

 

“I dunno,” Ronan replies blearily, “lunch. Where’ll you be? I wanna eat you. Eat with you. Bring you a sandwhich.” 

 

“I’ll be at the factory,” Adam says, “you don’t gotta do that, though.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says, yawns, “your breaks’s at twelve thirty, right? I’ll come. Now go away. I wanna sleep.” 

 

Adam sneaks in a quick kiss before Ronan loses consciousness again, and then lets himself out. 

 

Everything is fucking amazing. 

 

-

 

Ronan comes for lunch. They eat sandwiches. Adam wants to kiss him so badly. Ronan smiles at him in a way which says he knows. Ronan says, “oh shit I left a hickey on your neck, I didn’t notice before -” Adam says, “it’s fine.” Adam goes back to work, Ronan goes back to Gansey’s. 

 

Adam goes home. Adam goes to the bathroom. The mirror in there is old and tarnished and oddly perpetually fogged up despite the lack of heat, but he rubs a patch clear and squints at the hickey on his neck, and then winces at the hickey on his neck. He needs to cover it. He needs to cover it before his parents see it. Preferably he would have liked to cover it before anyone else saw it. No one else had said anything about it all day. It was huge. How had they not. Adam opens the door. His father is outside with a magazine, obviously prepared for a long haul bathroom trip. Adam ducks his head and makes to shuffle out of the way. His father takes him ungently by the upper arm. 

 

“This is what you’ve been getting up to?” He asks, “Who’ve you been getting pregnant, you twerp?”

 

Adam keeps his head ducked. He has no ready answer except for one he is absolutely not saying. 

 

-

 

The problem with dating Ronan was not the fucking hickeys, or the constant desire to be touching him, or the guilt for not being able to kiss him in front of most people. It was the fact that it would be very odd and probably cruel of him to avoid Ronan until his bruises had healed up a little bit.   He couldn’t explain them away as work injuries, because Ronan would see through that. He couldn’t say it was a fight with some kid, because Ronan would see through that. He couldn’t say it was anything other than it was because he had already told Ronan what his father did, so he would know. 

 

The thing was, he just had to go to work the next day, do his usual stint of ignoring his co-workers glances, and not think about when he might see Ronan next. Because it might be that afternoon. It might not be for a few days. 

 

It turns out to be exactly one minute after his shift ends. 

 

The BMW is parked across the road, but Ronan himself is leaning against a low wall, raven on his shoulder, attention taken up either in the bird or in looking cool. Gansey isn’t there. There’s already a few people gathered a safe distance from Ronan, watching him pet the birds huge as fuck beak. Adam approaches with caution. When he’s a metre away, Chainsaw cocks her head at him, and Ronan looks up. 

 

“Hi,” Adam calls. 

 

Ronan has his mouth open to reply, but it just stays open. He could be struck speechless by how hot Adam is, or, how covered in grease Adam is, or, maybe an explosion occurring right behind Adam. As soon as Adam is close enough, Ronan reaches out, touches his face, very gently, then, tugs his hand away roughly as if touching him had hurt. Adam understands this movement when Ronan glances furtively over his shoulder at Boyd’s, checking for witnesses. 

 

“What happened?” Ronan asks. 

 

Adam shrugs. He doesn’t want to tell Ronan it was the hickey. He’d been thinking about it, and he could easily just say no to hickeys without having to explain why. The beating hadn’t been Ronan’s fault. It hadn’t even been the hickey’s fault, but, Adam did not think that Ronan would feel that way about it. He didn’t want Ronan to feel like this was his fault in the slightest. Adam should have been more careful in the first place. 

 

“Where’s Gansey?” he asks, “Thought you guys would be hanging out.” 

 

Ronan’s face says he is not finished asking about Adam’s face. “His parents are in town for the week as well. He has to hang out with them a little bit. Was this your dad?” he adds, voice dropping down low. Chainsaw barks out a loud noise. 

 

“Can we just -” Adam mumbles, “- I’m off for the rest of the day. Let’s go somewhere.” 

 

“If I take you to mine, my mum is gonna have questions,” Ronan says, “if we go anywhere else, I’m still gonna want answers.” 

 

Funnily, most of Adam’s experience with people asking about this had been easily sidestepped by changing the topic, or by making it obvious he didn’t want to  talk about it. Ronan was not letting himself be sidestepped. 

 

God did Adam want Ronan to let him sidestep. 

 

“You already have the answer,” Adam says, drops his gaze from Ronan’s face to his shoulder instead. Stares at Chainsaw’s feet gripping tightly, tearing material. “I don’t have anything else to tell you.” 

 

“No,” Ronan says, emphatic. He lifts a hand like he’s about to touch Adam’s face again, like he’s going to pull him closer, and then drops it, looks over his shoulder again. “Let’s get in the car,” he says, “I’ll take you wherever you want.” 

 

Adam wants to get out out of here and never come back. He wants to go somewhere he can’t even think about his parents. He wants to go somewhere that no one else can see him until he’s ready to be seen. 

 

“Let’s go to the waterfall,” he suggests, “the one you took me to before.” 

 

“Secrets,” Ronan says. 

 

-

 

Ronan doesn’t try to ask anything else on the way. It’s almost awkwardly quiet in the car. Just Chainsaw and the music Adam turned on, until they’re only about five minutes away and Adam speaks. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

 

“What for?” Ronan grunts. Chainsaw wails in the backseat. An accompaniment.

 

“I just am,” Adam says. He doesn’t want to have to put words to it. It’s hard enough just saying ‘sorry’, let alone explaining why he’s sorry. 

 

“It’s not your fucking fault,” Ronan snaps, “don’t be a - a - a fucking martyr.” 

 

“It’s my fault you can’t touch me like a normal human when we’re outside,” Adam replies tensely. 

 

Ronan makes a noise halfway between a strangled pig and an irritated bear. Chainsaw repeats it. “It is not,” Ronan snaps, “it fucking sucks, yeah. Ok? I want to touch you. I wanna fucking hold your hand in public and kiss you, but you know the fuck what? Just fucking looking at you like you are now proves to me that it isn’t your fault that I can’t.” 

 

Adam considers arguing, but he also considers how weirdly emotionally fragile he feels right now, like he might just blink and his face could be wet. He doesn’t want that. It’s just that everything is moving so fast, he’d gone from just meeting Ronan, to liking him, to  _ liking _ him, to touching him, and his emotions were still struggling to catch up so  they were paper thin and easy to ignite. That was his theory anyway. He wasn’t used to things going so fast when they hadn’t been planned out this way. His life had been one slow trudge uphill. This was like hopping on a skateboard and zipping down a mountain side. The same terrifying whip in his stomach, the same excitement. He keeps his mouth shut, leans his head against the window pane, closes his eyes. 

 

Ronan drives them for another few minutes, then parks, turns the car off, music with it. Adam stays where he is. Ronan reaches out, brushes his hand along the corrugated lines of Adam’s shoulders, then smooths out against the back of his neck. 

 

“Hey,” he says, voice odd sounding without the backing track of drums and engines. “What do you need? I’ll give it to you. Anything.” 

 

“Stupid,” Adam mumbles against the glass.

 

“I can give you stupid,” Ronan says. His fingertips are rough with calluses, but still soothing as he runs his thumb down the inside of Adam’s neck, “I care that we can’t kiss in public, that I can’t be seen as your boyfriend, but I care more about your fucking well being, you piss puddle. I care about you. Ok?” 

 

“It’s only just been over month,” Adam says, jaw sore, “we barely know each other yet.” 

 

“You saying you don’t care about me, then?” Ronan asks, voice light. Chainsaw voices his true feelings from the backseat. 

 

“Don’t be an asshole,” Adam sighs, “I care about you so much.” 

 

“Don’t you be an asshole then,” Ronan says, pulls his hand away only to shove Adam’s shoulders lightly, “tell me what you need. Please.” 

 

“I need,” Adam begins, slow, clears his throat, keeps his eyes closed, “I need not to talk about how beat up I am right now. I just need you to - to - I wanna fucking act like a normal teenager on a date with their boyfriend.”

 

“Ah,” Ronan says, “you’re saying you wanna get handsy in the waterfall. Adventurous.” 

 

“Piss off,” Adam snorts, “if you push me in before I can undress this time I will murder you.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says easily. He tugs at Adam’s arm, “Turn around and kiss me.”

 

-

 

The water is freezing at first again, but after a few moments it’s bearable, and after a few moments more it’s even soothing on his bruising and grazes. On second thought it had probably been a terrible idea to suggest the swimming hole here because it let Ronan in to the entire scope of his bruising, but, better sooner than later? 

 

It also means, less terribly, that they do swim around for a while, splash each other mercilessly for a while, but for the most part it’s Ronan pressing Adam up against the rocks they’d sunbathed on earlier and kissing him very thoroughly. Also sometimes (a lot of the time), Adam spreading Ronan out on the smooth stone and then climbing on top of him to kiss him some more. After a while the kissing leads to just lying together on the damp rocks, arms loose around each others stomachs, skin drying slowly in the sun, Adam tracing water droplets up and down Ronan’s chest. 

 

“Noah comes back in a couple of days,” Ronan says, eyes closed, “I think you’ll like him. He’s fucking ridiculous.” 

 

“Wow,” Adam says, “such a glowing recommendation. Are you going to tell him about us?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “I trust him.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “so we still get to kiss in Monmouth?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says again, “fuck yeah we do.” 

 

“Hey,” Adam says, shifts so he’s lying less on the rock and more on Ronan. 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“I like you a lot,” Adam says, voice low, because saying things like this seriously took a lot of effort, “I like you a  _ lot _ , Ronan.” 

 

“Huh,” Ronan says, “well. I like you a lot too. A fuck load. I like you a fuck load, Parrish.” 

 

“If I ran away,” Adam says, “would you send me postcards?” 

 

“The fuck?” Ronan says, “You’re going to run away?” 

 

“No,” Adam sighs, “I’m not.” 

 

They’re both silent for a moment. 

 

“I would send you postcards,” Ronan says eventually, “but I would go with you if you asked.” 

 

“Thanks.” 

 

“You’re an idiot, man.” 

 

“I know,” Adam says, “look. I’m not going to run away, but I am gonna leave. I’ve told you that, yeah. As soon as I’m finished with school. I’m gone. I’m never coming back. I can’t.” 

 

Ronan’s chest goes up, down, up, stays up, and then goes slowly down. 

 

“I know,” Ronan says, “I get it.” 

 

“I’m not asking you to make any like...big decisions,” Adam says, “I just want you to know. What my plan is. So we’re clear from the start.” 

 

“Big decisions like what?” Ronan says, “I already told you I’d run away with you.” 

 

Adam pinches his nipple. Ronan accidentally tips the both of them back into the water. 

 

-

 

They go to the Barns, because the sun might be warm but the air is cold, and again, they don’t have colds. Also Adam would really like to have a shower in the miracle shower again. 

 

“My mum’s gonna wanna talk to you,” Ronan tells him as they drive, hair dripping, to Ronan’s, “she’s gonna do her very concerned face. She’s good at it, y’know. I couldn’t stop her even if I tried.” 

 

“I know,” Adam sighs, “what’s the point in hiding it though, huh? I wanna be with you, these bruises ain’t gonna suddenly stop happenin’. She’s gonna find out eventually.” 

 

“They could suddenly stop happening,” Ronan retorts, “we could help, you know. We could do something. If - if you ever wanna have a proper conversation with me about what’s happening then we - like me and my mum and you could  _ do _ something proper -”

 

“We’re not having this conversation now,” Adam interrupts. He can’t do it now. He can’t. There’s no point in trying. “Please.” 

 

Ronan grunts, but nods. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and after a few moments, Adam reaches over to fit his hand over Ronan’s rigid fingers. 

 

“I’m fine,” he says, “I have a plan. You know that. I’m  _ fine _ .” 

 

“If I reply to that,” Ronan says, “then we’ll be having to have a conversation about it because I have some shit to say about what  _ fine _ is.” 

 

Adam squeezes his hand. Ronan lets go of the steering wheel and lets Adam lace their fingers together. 

 

“Can I stay for dinner?” he asks. It’s an olive branch, or even, a form of bartering. Ronan drops this topic for now, Adam stays for longer, asks for something that isn’t secrecy. 

 

“Don’t be a dick,” Ronan says, “of course you fucking can.” 

 

-

 

“Oh,” Aurora says when she catches sight of them in the hallway as they attempt to sneak to Ronan’s room without being noticed. She’s got huge oven gloves on, and her hair pulled up in a messy knot on the top of her head. “Adam!” 

 

“Hi mum,” Ronan says. 

 

“Hi baby,” Aurora replies, her eyes flicking from Adam to Ronan, then back to Adam, “Adam, honey, come into the kitchen with me. Lemme look at those bruises in some better light.” 

 

“Ma’am,” Adam protests, “they’re fine - it’s nothing -” 

 

“Aurora,” Aurora says sternly, “the light in here is dreadful. Come on.” 

 

They follow Aurora down the hallway towards the kitchen. At the intersection between kitchen, hallway, stairs, and other hallway, Declan appears in a doorway, mouth open like he’s about to speak. He looks at Adam, and then he reaches out to take Ronan’s arm. 

 

“Oi,” Ronan says. 

 

“I need to speak to you,” Declan tells him firmly, yanking Ronan away from Adam and Aurora, “don’t bite.” 

 

Ronan is dragged off to another room, Adam follows Aurora alone into the kitchen. The lighting is truly better in there. Aurora discards the oven gloves, dropping them on the counter, and then turns to Adam to gesture at him to join her by the window. 

 

“Let me see,” she says, and while her voice is gentle, as it tends to always be, she is still very stern. He goes to her, and she cups his face carefully with her cool hands and tilts his face into the light. “Ow,” she remarks. 

 

He clears his throat. 

 

“Do you wanna talk about this, honey?” She asks him, voice low. She rubs her thumb over a bruise that is more of a graze, and he bites his lip. “You don’t have to, but you can. This isn’t just from some silly fight, is it?” 

 

He clears his throat again. “No, ma’am,” he mumbles, “it isn’t.” 

 

She’s quiet for a long moment, her silences very similar to Ronan’s in the way they don’t feel like silence. She tilts his head the other way. Possibly to look at the hickey on his neck that only looks like a bruise if you look at him as one whole picture. 

 

“Let me put some bruise cream on you,” she tells him, “are you staying for dinner?” 

 

“If I’m allowed,” Adam says. 

 

“You can stay as long as you like,” Aurora says, “do you understand?” 

 

Adam doesn’t really. He nods. 

 

Aurora opens her mouth to say something else, but then Ronan’s voice cuts through the house. They’d been hearing the vague in another room rumble of Declan and Ronan’s conversation this whole time, but now it was a shouting conversation, and Aurora drops her hands from Adam’s face and says; “Hold on to that thought, alright?” and heads for the kitchen door. 

 

They come out into the hallway as Ronan bursts through the door he’d been dragged through before, Declan at his heels. He must see his mother and Adam standing there, but he just charges down the hallway, and a moment later the front door slams loudly. 

 

“What happened?” She asks Declan, who looks mutinous, and only shrugs. “Never mind,” she says, “I’ll go talk to him.” 

 

She follows the echoing sound of slammed door down the hallway and disappears as well. Adam feels like he’s supposed to disappear around about now, too. He is very aware of Declan’s eyes on him. He doesn’t know what’s so uncomfortable about them. He likes Declan. He guesses. Not as much as he likes Ronan, obviously, or as much as he likes Matthew (because Matthew his just intensely likeable), but he still likes him and right now Declan’s eyes boring into him doesn’t feel very much like Declan likes him back. 

 

“You remember that thing I said to you when we first met?” Declan says to him, voice stiff. 

 

Adam remembers. He tilts his head to the side and looks at Declan. “Of course,” he says. 

 

Declan lifts his hand and gestures to Adam’s face, and then waves loosely in the direction his brother and mother had gone. “If you get him roped into any of whatever shit you’re involved in,” he says slowly, “then you can count this right now as your only warning to be careful.” 

 

Adam understands perfectly now. He also understands why Ronan is currently so upset. He understands why Declan’s face is so taut. He understands just how bad his bruises look. He makes a series of decisions. He had already decided that sooner was better than later. He had already decided it was a useless secret to keep. At least this way he had a little bit of power in the situation of it all. He shoves his hands in his jean pockets, exhales loud. 

 

“You don’t gotta worry about that,” he says, can’t rein his accent in even a little, “my dad only ever beats up on me and my mum. I ain’t ever takin’ Ro ‘round to mine anyway though, I wouldn’t risk him like that.” 

 

Declan’s silence is different from Ronan’s or Aurora’s. Adam isn’t sure he can quite pinpoint how, but it’s different. Adam doesn’t look at him while Declan looks at him. 

 

Declan inhales, ostensibly to say something, and Adam decides that actually he can’t bear to hear whatever it is Declan is gonna say. Especially if it’s an apology. He just wants out. 

 

“I should go,” Adam mumbles, “yeah. Bye, Declan.” 

 

-

 

Declan doesn’t say anything, and Adam hastens down the hallway. He isn’t expecting to open the front door and almost fall right on top of Ronan and Aurora, but that’s what happens. 

 

Aurora is sitting on the doorstep, her arms around Ronan. Ronan is sitting next to her, his head under her chin, arms around himself. It looks very private. 

 

“‘Scuse me,” Adam mumbles, “didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just - I should leave -” 

 

“Sit down, Adam,” Aurora tells him. 

 

Adam swallows. Ronan’s car is unlocked. He could just step around the two of them, grab his bike from the boot of the BMW, bike home. He steps around the two of them, then sits next to Ronan, ass half on a gumboot. No one says anything for a long moment. A cicada chirps ironically from somewhere. Ronan unwraps one of his arms from around himself and takes Adam’s hand. 

 

“Ronan tells me you two are dating,” Aurora says then, “that’s lovely.” 

 

“Thanks, ma’am,” Adam says to his knees. He tries to imagine his own mother saying that to him. Then he tries not to laugh, because this does not feel like a good situation for laughing in. 

 

“Sorry for storming off,” Ronan says, very quietly. He squeezes Adam’s hand, “didn’t mean to leave you in the lurch.” 

 

“‘S’fine,” Adam tells him. He wants to lean in against Ronan’s shoulder, even though Aurora’s arms are wrapped around them. He does. Aurora lifts her hand to let him, and then rests it briefly in Adam’s hair. 

 

“You two might be grown,” she says to the both of them, “but that doesn’t mean that either of you have to do stuff by yourselves. You’re dating my son, Adam, that makes you my son too. If you need a mama to help you out I’m here to help you out.” 

 

Adam doesn’t bother trying to imagine his own mother saying this. It’s too implausible. He nods against Ronan’s shoulder. 

 

“You two get properly dried off now. Go play some video games with Matty, he’s been practicing that new one all day and he’s ready to beat both your asses. Dinner in an hour, alright?” 

 

“Alright,” Ronan says. 

 

-

 

“I should call my mum and let her know I won’t be home for dinner,” Adam says when they’re upstairs. 

 

Ronan is sitting on the bathroom counter leaning against the mirror, Adam is standing in front of the sink drying his hair with a large fluffy orange towel. 

 

“Use my phone,” Ronan says, “do you want me to… wait in my room for you to finish chatting with her?” 

 

“Um,” Adam says. Yes. He would. He doesn’t want to say yes, though, he wants to say no.

 

Ronan fishes his phone from his jeans pocket and hands it over to Adam. “I’ll be in my room,” he says, hopping off the counter and heading for the door. 

 

Adam puts the phone down on the counter, finishes drying his hair, hangs the towel up, uses the bruise cream, fingers careful, careful, careful, stares at himself in the mirror for a long moment, and then calls home. 

 

“It’s me,” he says when his mother answers. 

 

“Oh,” she says, “look boy, your dad’s in a mood. If you ain’t home in ten minutes you ain’t coming home at all tonight.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. 

 

“Where the hell were you this afternoon?” she demands, “Your dad wanted you to give him a hand in the garage.” 

 

“I didn’t know,” Adam says. 

 

“Whatever,” his mother replies, “you gonna be home in ten, then?” 

 

“No,” he says, “I - I’m too far out. I could be there in thirty?” 

 

“Fuck that,” his mother scoffs, “come on, Adam. You tryin’ to be funny? If your dad sets a curfew you don’t try an’ push it. Home in ten or not at all. Not tonight. I want a fucking quiet night, I don’t wanna have to deal with your dad yellin’ all night, and you  _ know _ what’ll happen if you get home late.” 

 

“I won’t be home tonight, then,” Adam replies. 

 

“Better be back here tomorrow,” she says, “else he’ll think you’re hidin’ from him.” 

 

“Yes ma’am,” he says. 

 

She hangs up. 

 

-

 

“All good?” Ronan asks when Adam comes into the bedroom. He’s sprawled out on his stomach on his bed, Chainsaw on his pillow pecking at his fingers. “You can stay?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says. He walks to the bed, and then topples onto it, pressing his face in against Ronan’s side. Chainsaw squawks at the sudden movement of the bed. “But I - I can’t go home tonight. Can I stay here?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan replies immediately. “‘Course. Of course you can.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says.

 

-

 

They’re playing with, or, being whipped into a pathetic mess by, Matthew downstairs, when Adam notices Ronan’s phone (back) in his jeans pocket vibrating on and off every few minutes. This brief lapse of attention to the game ends up with his character dead and Matthew laughing uproariously from the other side of the couch. 

 

“Your phone’s going off,” Adam says, leaning back against the arm of the couch and pulling his feet up underneath himself. 

 

“Get it for me?” Ronan asks, eyes on the screen, “It’s probably Gans.” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, “ok?” 

 

He leans forward to fish the phone out of Ronan’s pocket. Matthew makes a half whistle sound, which is probably meant to be teasing, but he’s too distracted to make it come out properly. 

 

It is Gansey’s name that’s flashing on the screen. Or, it’s, ‘no im not putting emojis in ur name gans’. 

 

He presses answer call, and then holds it up to Ronan’s ear. 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says, eyes still on the screen, “can you answer it?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says again, “oh...kay?” He pulls the phone away from Ronan’s ear, and holds it up to his. “Hi Gansey,” he tries, “it’s Adam.” 

 

“Hey Adam,” Gansey says, sounding entirely unsurprised to hear him on Ronan’s phone, “how are you doing?” 

 

“Yeah, good?” Adam says, “You?” 

 

“Great!” Gansey replies, either in response to Adam’s answer, or as his own answer. “Listen, are you guys free tomorrow afternoon? There’s a hike I want to do and I don’t want to go alone.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, “well I get off work at two, so I could - let me just ask Ronan -” 

 

“Great,” Gansey says again. 

 

Adam pulls the phone to his shoulder and looks at Ronan. He isn’t sure how much brain space Ronan has right now for making decisions. 

 

“Gansey wants to go hiking with us tomorrow,” he says to Ronan. 

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says. 

 

“Do you want to go hiking tomorrow?” Adam tries. 

 

“Do you?” Ronan shoots back. He gets a good move in and yells excitedly. 

 

“Sure,” Adam says, “I guess.” 

 

“Say yes then,” Ronan says distractedly, “I’m fine with whatever.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam says, “ok.” He lifts the phone back up to his ear. “We’re in.” 

 

“Great!” Gansey says yet again, “How exciting! I’ve got so much left over food from lunch with my parent’s today, we could make a picnic out of it! I’ve been looking into some old maps of the area I want to hike in and I think we have a very good possibility of finding some old ruins up there.” 

 

“That’s cool,” Adam says. He doesn’t really know how to… talk on the phone? It’s not something he has ever bothered to do much of, but Gansey does not sound like he’s planning on just hanging up now he’s asked his initial question. 

 

“So,” Gansey says, “tell me what you guys have been up to? I’ve been stuck making small talk with my parents and their Henrietta politician friends, which, let me tell you, is not my idea of an interesting day. I didn’t move to Henrietta for politics.” 

 

Huh. “Well,” Adam says. He shifts a little more so he can unfold his legs again and shove his cold toes under Ronan’s ass. 

 

-

 

Dinner is something Aurora tells him is called ‘Boxty’ with large hunks of lamb. Adam thinks it’s more food he’s had on a plate since… possibly ever. Matthew looks like he’s vibrating with joy over it, obviously it’s one of his favourite foods. 

 

Oddly, or perhaps not oddly seeing as Adam knows they go to church, they say grace before eating, and it means that Adam ends up holding both Ronan and Matthew's hands. He keeps his eyes squinted open and watches as Aurora says a prayer not in english, and all her sons are quiet and calm looking (apart from Matthew’s hunger vibrations). 

 

Boxty turns out to be… Adam isn’t quite sure how to describe it. Delicious potato pancakes? Something Matthew eats three of in a row without pausing for breath? 

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Aurora says from the head of the table, “about whether or not I should let y’all sleep in the same room now you’re dating.” 

 

Ronan’s head whips towards his mother, he appears to accidentally spit out a bit of gravy. “Pf-what?” he asks. 

 

Declan chokes on his food. 

 

Adam focuses very hard on his plate. 

 

“Well,” Aurora says calmly, “is it sensible of me to let two young men -” 

 

“Mama!” Ronan cries, “Come on!” 

 

“I agree with mum,” Declan says solemnly, “maybe Adam should sleep in Matthew’s room? Or you could have a sleepover in the lounge.” 

 

“I’d love to have Adam in my room,” Matthew says, obviously half enjoying joining in on the fun, half serious in his statement. 

 

“Declan gets to have his girlfriends in his room when they stay over,” Ronan objects. 

 

“Well Declan’s a grown up now,” Aurora says. 

 

Now Matthew chokes on his food. Declan elbows him. 

 

“You two can sleep in the same room,” Aurora says with a snort. She reaches across the table to pinch Ronan’s cheek which is very red, “I’m pulling your leg, chicken. Adam’s still gonna sleep in another bed though, ok?” 

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Adam says. 

 

Ronan glowers. 

 

-

 

“I know I can’t like - like sleep in your bed,” Adam says, much later, after some more video games, a very hands on card game, dishes, and a quick trip out to see what the goats were yelling about, once he and Ronan had gone to Ronan’s room. They’re showered, pajama-ed, tooth brushed, and in their respective beds. “But could I like - could I get in with you for a bit. Just to -” 

 

Ronan’s thrown his blankets back before Adam’s finished speaking. “Get the fuck in, Parrish,” he says, “God I’ve been waiting since we turned the light off.” 

 

“You could have said something,” Adam snorts, scrambling out of his blankets and up onto Ronan’s bed, “took out some of the guesswork.” 

 

“I could have,” Ronan agrees, wrapping his arms tightly around Adam’s waist and tugging him right down against the mattress. Adam yanks the blanket back up over them and shunts himself further down the bed so their faces are level on Ronan’s pillows. “Hi.” 

 

“Hey,” Adam replies, leans in to kiss him quickly, “your mum was super cool about us being together.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan agrees, follows Adam’s face back across the pillow to kiss him again, “you’re all good with her knowing, yeah?” 

 

“I told you you could tell anyone you trust,” Adam says, “I’m happy your family knows.” 

 

“You know,” Ronan says, “she wasn’t kidding when she said she’d be there for you.” 

 

“Mm,” Adam says. 

 

“Do you - do you wanna talk about  _ it _ now, or nah?” Ronan asks. 

 

“Nah,” Adam says, “I just wanna - let’s just - we’re not gonna have much making out time tomorrow if we’re gonna be hiking with Gansey, y’know.” 

 

“True,” Ronan says, “we better get to fixing that.” 

 

-

 

Adam wakes up feeling very much like - Oops. Well. Not quite. First he wakes up feeling pretty fucking blissed out, then he feels a little less blissed out, and then he just feels damp, and that’s when the oops kicks in. 

 

“Oh shit,” Adam hisses, sitting bolt upright in his blankets on the mattress on Ronan’s floor, “oh shit, shitting shit - fuck -” 

 

“Wha-” Ronan’s voice comes from beside him, under the pile of blankets on Ronan’s bed, “what, babe - what - you ok?” 

 

This puts pause to Adam’s vague half asleep panic for a moment. “You just called me babe?” 

 

“Uh,” Ronan grumbles, voice sleep rough. He appears, crumpled, from under his blankets, and peers at Adam, “I can not?” 

 

“Nah,” Adam says, “keep calling me babe.” 

 

“Dumbass,” Ronan snorts, yawns, “what the fuck is up, babe?” 

 

“Nothing,” Adam says. 

 

Ronan squints at him. Either because he doesn’t believe him or because he is also half asleep and doesn’t like having his eyes open. “What the hell, Parrish,” he says after another yawn, “you woke me up with swearing over nothing? Un-fucking-likely.” 

 

Adam considers just telling him. Considering makes him blush all too much. “It’s embarrassing,” he grumbles, “I just wanna start out by saying that I’ve never - this doesn’t happen - like it’s not happened  _ ever _ before -” 

 

“Oh holy shit,” Ronan says, looking gleeful, “you had a fucking wet dream, you horny bastard.” 

 

“Oh God,” Adam groans. He wants to flop back down on the mattress and hide under the blankets but… it’s a bit fucking damp. 

 

“Was it about me?” Ronan asks, he’s scuffled over to the side of his bed and is half hanging off it, “Was it hot?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam concedes grumpily, “I fucking guess it had to have been otherwise I wouldn’t be in this mess.” 

 

“Literally,” Ronan laughs. Adam fixes his face into stony. “Babe,” Ronan says, “it’s fine.” 

 

“It’s not  _ fine _ ,” Adam insists, “I just - God. This is gonna look so bad to your mum. And like - I  _ swear _ I’m not usually - I’ve not ever - this is so embarrassing, God.” 

 

“Please,” Ronan says. He topples himself off his bed and onto Adam’s mattress, despite Adam’s quick noise of protest. “Mum isn’t gonna know. You’ve probably not made a big mess. She’s not gonna ask, you twit. Go on, show me.” 

 

“Show you what?” Adam demands, tugging the blankets up a little around himself. He’s overly aware that his voice is a little squeaky, his face a lot hot. 

 

“Like is it just your fucking undies that are spunked up?” Ronan asks bluntly, “Or is it the sheets too? Both are fine, or whatever, just one is quicker to fix.” 

 

“I dunno,” Adam says. 

 

“So let me fucking see,” Ronan rolls his eyes, “come on.” 

 

Reluctantly, Adam pushes the blankets down, and they both examine exactly how horrified Adam needs to feel. 

 

“Easy peasy,” Ronan says, “just fucking borrow some of my undies. Chuck those ones in the washing basket. We can rinse them and then just wash them with my clothes. No one will ever fucking know, ok? Chill out.” 

 

“You’re seriously not -” Adam has to consider his words, probably doesn’t consider them enough, “- grossed out?” 

 

“Don’t be a dumbass,” Ronan snorts, “my boyfriend had a sex dream about me and came in his sleep, apparently the first time he has ever done that. No. I’m not grossed out. A little turned on, though. I would be kissing you right now but you looked too, like, freaked out.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam says, “I want a shower before we kiss.” 

 

“Sure,” Ronan says, “I’ll grab you some more undies.” 

 

“Thanks.” 

 

-

 

So. That was a thing. They weren’t just dating now, they were  _ boyfriends _ . Which was cool. It was very cool. It had been said enough now that it wasn’t just a slip of the tongue or whatever it was a THING. A THING. A boyfriend THING. Cool, cool. He was perfectly capable of working all until two without discussing his life with someone. 

 

He goes to Nino’s in between his factory shift and Boyd’s. 

 

Blue takes one look at him as he approaches the counter, and puts her notepad down. 

 

“Are you gonna ask me to ask you to sleep over again?” She asks, “You’re wearing your weird face.” 

 

“This is just my face,” Adam replies, sliding onto the closest stool and leaning over the counter towards her, “hey. How are you doing?” 

 

“Fine,” Blue says, “working for a living. Fending off idiots. Waiting for my dumbass friend to cut the niceties and tell me what crazy shit is going through his brain right now.” 

 

Adam bites his lip. Then he glances around behind him, then around Blue, then he leans further over the counter. 

 

“Ronan Lynch is my boyfriend,” he says. 

 

Blue laughs. Frowns. Laughs again. Frowns. Picks her notepad up and thwacks him lightly over the head. 

 

“Come again?” 

 

“Ronan. Me and Ronan. We’re - we’re together. You know. Romantically. I really like him. You know. Romantically.” 

 

Blue looks like she might be about to thwack him with the pad again. Instead she puts it very carefully back down on the counter and crosses her arms before leaning across it so they’re very almost nose to nose. 

 

“Adam Parrish,” she says, quietly, “are you fucking insane?” 

 

Adam sits up straight, very offended, a little hurt. Maybe a little offended and very hurt. 

 

“I didn’t take you for the - the homophobic type, Blue Sargant, but -” 

 

“Oh piss off,” Blue snorts, “that’s not the issue, you jerk. I’m gay too, you wackjob. Hello?” 

 

Adam clears his throat, leans back in, talks before Blue can. “I know what the rumors about him are,” he says, “I know. You told me. I know what actually happened. I know him. I know his family. I’ve seen what he’s like - he’s - Blue. I really, really like him.”

 

Blue stares at him. She’s a little bit like one of those china dolls, with the big victorian hair and dress and glassy long-eyelashed-eyes. Except she has crazily choppy hair, excessively strange clothing, and very focused unglassy, terrifyingly soul seeing eyes. Also he thinks she’s wearing pink glitter mascara.

 

“You’re very serious, aren’t you?” she asks. 

 

“Yeah,” he says. 

 

“Ok,” she says, clears her throat, “ok. So. Ok? How’s that working out for you?” 

 

“I have a  _ boyfriend _ , Blue,” Adam says, sounding possibly a little strangled, “I have a boyfriend. You know how dead I am if my dad finds out? God. So dead. I wasn’t even gonna date until I left here and now I have a boyfriend.” 

 

“Oh,” Blue says. “Oh. Adam.” 

 

“Sorry,” Adam says, clears his throat now, “sorry. I didn’t mean to like - to vomit all over you with this shit. I just wanted to tell you I was dating him. I guess I just - it’s a lot. It’s a lot right?” 

 

“It is a lot,” Blue agrees, “it’s very fast too.” 

 

“I know, right?!” Adam says. Blue looks shocked at the speed of the words leaving his mouth. He sighs and drops his head onto the counter. She pats his head awkwardly. “Sorry,” he says again, mouth squished against the peeling lacquer on the counter, “sorry.” 

 

“You’re such a loser,” she says, quite fond, “who would’a guessed that our cool, calm, and collected, high rising Adam Parrish would be such a woob over getting a boyfriend?” 

 

“It’s gotta be a secret,” Adam says. 

 

“I know,” Blue sighs. 

 

“Is that ok?” Adam asks. Blue sighs again. 

 

“Are you asking if I’m ok to keep it a secret or if it’s ok in a relationship to keep it a secret?” 

 

“Both?” Adam suggests. 

 

“I’m a girl,” Blue says, “not a counsellor. That’s something you gotta discuss with your freaking partner.” 

 

“He says it’s ok. He gets it,” Adam says. 

 

“Then it’s ok,” Blue snorts, “chill. It’s fine. Do you wanna coke?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says. 

 

“Not a free coke,” Blue clarifies. 

 

“I know,” Adam snorts. 

 

-

 

Ronan picks him up after work. That’s something he’s almost used to, the BMW waiting for him outside work. He’s still not used to his co-workers raised eyebrows about it though. 

 

“Hey babe,” Ronan says when Adam slides into the passenger seat. 

 

“Wh- uh,” Adam replies eloquently, “uh, hi.” 

 

Ronan laughs at him. “Too much?” he asks. 

 

“Nah,” Adam says, tugs his seat belt on, “just - surprising. Y’know? We meeting Gansey at Monmouth?” 

 

“Yup,” Ronan says, peeling away from the curb, “he wants us to take the Pig, so we’ll swap cars too. He’s super excited, dude, don’t let that put you off.” 

 

“Hey,” Adam says, “I spent half an hour on the phone with him last night, I think I can handle it.” 

 

Ronan grins at him. 

 

-

 

Gansey is indeed excited. Not in an off putting way. It’s almost endearing. He has a literal wicker picnic basket. They climb into the Pig, Ronan puts on some music, Gansey changes the music, Ronan tries to change the music again, Gansey tells him they listen to his music or no music, Ronan says no music. Gansey keeps the music on. 

 

They eat when they get to the clearing, the beginning of the hike Gansey is so excited about, and Gansey tells them all about it while they eat fancy finger food and drink pink lemonade, and then clean up the picnic and lock the car up. 

 

-

 

“Noah’s home tomorrow,” Gansey says to the car at large when they drive back into town an hour later, a little sweaty, a lot victorious, Gansey’s phone full of photos of crumbling outlines of buildings and also Ronan pulling the finger. “Let’s have a barbeque?” 

 

“We don’t own a barbeque,” Ronan points out. He had elected to sit in the back seat with Adam on the way back, and was pressed up alongside him, the two of them sharing far too much swear. 

 

“I’ll buy one,” Gansey announces, “I’ve thought for a while we need one.” 

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Ronan scoffs, “sure, whatever.” 

 

“Will you come, Adam?” Gansey asks, “I’d love to have you there! And Noah would love to meet you, too.” 

 

“Um,” Adam says, “I have work until eleven that night, so, I don’t think I can make it?” 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, sounding altogether too upset about it. 

 

“Sorry,” Adam offers. 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says again, “how about an early barbeque? What time do you start work?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, “At like - six, but I have to bike out there, so I gotta leave town about fiveish.” 

 

“I’ll drive you to work, dipshit,” Ronan says, “we could do the barbeque at four, I could drive you out at like… five thirty? You could come around to mine to stay the night after too, you know, biking home at eleven is ridiculous.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam says, “um. Sure. The barbeque could work out then. Hey, could I invite my friend? Blue?” 

 

Gansey squeals the Pig’s tires, just a little. He coughs. 

 

“Blue?” he asks, “From Nino’s?” 

 

“She works at Nino’s, yeah,” Adam agrees. 

 

“Sure, sure, sure,” Gansey says, “cool, cool, cool.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, Ronan is rolling his eyes, “I’ll do that then. Oh - oh, just park the car here, yeah - I’ll walk from here.” 

 

“You sure?” Gansey asks. He parks by the side of the road and turns in his seat to look at them, “we’re still like… a couple of blocks away.” 

 

“Yeah, I know,” Adam says, “but I wanna kiss Ronan bye. I’m sure.” 

 

Gansey looks a little conflicted, then he says, “Ok. I’ll grab your bike out to give you guys a moment?” 

 

Ronan pulls the finger in Gansey’s general direction. Gansey snorts, gets out of the car. 

 

“Hey,” Adam says, “this was fun.” 

 

“Hey,” Ronan replies, “you ok with the thing tomorrow?” 

 

“Yes,” Adam says. He unbuckles and shifts so he can tug Ronan a little closer to him, “you good with it?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan snorts, then, “you’re home early enough, yeah? You’re not gonna get in trouble?” 

 

“I’m fine,” Adam says, kisses him quickly, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

 

-

 

He is fine. He doesn’t get into any visible trouble. His father might be yelling at him but that’s not going to leave any marks, so it’s fine. There might be not dinner to be had, but he had that picnic, and he had a big dinner the previous night, so it’s fine. He might be up later than he liked to be to do extra chores, but he was good at working on little sleep, so it’s fine. It’s all totally fine. 

 

-

 

He cycles to Nino’s in his break again. Hopefully inviting Blue only a few hours before the barbeque was supposed to start wasn’t a dick move. Hopefully inviting Blue wasn’t a dumb move. He just wanted - he wasn’t sure what he just wanted. He wanted to show her that Ronan wasn’t just the rumors around town. Or. He wanted to not be the only odd one out in a meeting of Aglionby boys. Although Ronan wasn’t an Aglionby boy. Whatever. 

 

Blue looks shocked to see him two days in a row. She’s wiping down a table near the door when he comes in, and she straightens up and looks at him. 

 

“What now?” she asks, “Are you here to talk about Ronan again?” 

 

“Nah,” Adam says, shoving his hands into his back pockets and leaning against the wall, “you free this afternoon?” 

 

“I’m always expensive,” Blue says, “but I don’t have anything on. Why?” 

 

“You wanna come to a barbeque?” Adam asks, “Get to know Ronan a bit more?” 

 

“Ugh,” Blue says, “seriously? Ok.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam snorts, “that was easier than I thought it’d be.” 

 

“Whatever,” Blue says, “when?” 

 

“At four. Will you still be here or will you be home? We could pick you up?” 

 

“I’ll just be finished here,” Blue offers, “who is the ‘we’ picking me up?” 

 

“Probably me and Ronan,” Adam says. 

 

“Ok,” Blue says, “fine. Where is this barbeque?” 

 

“Um,” Adam says, “you’re definitely coming, yeah?” 

 

“Adam, where the fuck is this barbeque?” 

 

“Y’know that Raven Boy you hate?” Adam asks, grinning. 

 

“Oh, stuff you, Adam,” Blue sighs. 

 

-

  
  


When Ronan does come to pick Adam up that afternoon, there’s even trashier than usual music pouring out of the BMW, and in the backseat, a hyperactive looking, very skinny dude. 

 

“Hi,” Adam says. He’s glad this guy -probably Noah - is in the back seat.

 

“Hey! I’m Noah,” Noah says, very enthusiastically, “I was just telling Ronan I was like half convinced he was making up how hot you are but he actually wasn’t at all, so like, what say you and me go into business? You be the front man to get all the… uh the customers, and I’ll make all our produce. It’ll be perfect, we’ll make so much money. Just think on it, yeah?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, “wh- ah - what? What are we selling? Wh- what?” 

 

“Who cares,” Noah says, “weed? Hamburgers? Friendship bracelets? Dick? Flowers? We could sell anything with your face on the advertising!” 

 

“Oh my God, Noah!” Ronan snorts, he turns the music down and turns in his seat, arm over the headrest of his seat, “What the hell?” 

 

“So I’m super hot, then?” Adam asks, tugging his seat belt on.

  
“Fuck yes!” Noah says. 

 

“He got back half an hour ago and he hasn’t slept for like… how long was it, Noah?” 

 

“Twenty five hours!” Noah announces, very pleased, “But I’ve had so much coke, my dudes! The drink, not the drug, hell no, don’t do coke! The drug, not the drink.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “you gonna nap before the barbeque?” 

 

“I’ll nap when I’m dead,” Noah announces, “take me to bed, Ronan.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, as Ronan takes the hand brake off, “Can we go pick up Blue, first? She’s at Nino’s.” 

 

“Blue!” Noah explodes, “We get Blue?”

 

“Holy shit!” Ronan yells, “Noah! Chill!” 

 

“She’s my friend,” Adam says, “I invited her.” 

 

“Gansey is gonna NUT,” Noah says, “shit yeah.” 

 

“Chill,” Ronan reiterates, but he’s sniggering around his badly constructed sternness. “Ok, Nino’s, then bedtime for Noah. Do you think Blue will flip if she has to sit next to him?” 

 

“I promise not to be weird!” Noah calls, “I promise!” 

 

“I think she’ll be ok,” Adam says, “she might be mad at me, though.” 

 

“That’s fine, then,” Ronan says, grins at Adam. 

 

-

 

“Well, ok,” Blue says when she gets into the BMW, “hopefully my mother will forgive me for getting into a stupidly fancy car with a bunch of ravens.” 

 

“I’m not at school,” Ronan says, not turning around from the wheel, “and Noah’s more like a sparrow drunk on fizzy than anything else.” 

 

“Still a fancy car,” Blue says. Noah waves at her. She smiles a little. “What do you mean you don’t go to school?” she asks as Ronan pulls back out of Nino’s parking lot, “How old are you? You cradle snatching?” 

 

“Piss the fuck off,” Ronan snorts, “I’m seventeen, you fucking weirdo. I just don’t do school anymore. Got a problem with that?” 

 

“I’ve got a problem with you swearing at me,” Blue says, eyebrows raised. 

 

Ronan grunts. “Whatever,” he says, then he sighs and tries again, “sorry. I wasn’t fucki- I wasn’t swearing  _ at _ you, but I won’t around you if you don’t want.” 

 

“He just talks like that,” Noah adds in, “it’s like he’s made out of a crudely taught parrot and an angry internet post.” 

 

Blue snorts. Then she says, “Whatever. You can swear around me, just don’t like, I dunno. Don’t swear at me.” 

 

“Sure,” Ronan mumbles. 

 

“Hi, Adam, by the way,” Blue says. 

 

“Hi Blue,” Adam snorts. 

 

-

 

Gansey had, actually, bought a barbeque, and it was already going by the time they got there. He had steak, sausages, patties, vegetarian sausages, chicken nibbles, and courgette on it. 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, “are we expecting more people?” 

 

“Nope,” Gansey says cheerfully, “I just like to be prepared.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “can I help?” 

 

“No!” Noah announces, coming up behind the both of them, “I bagsed helping already, you go canoodle with Ronan I wanna flip shit.” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, “ok. Cool. Good to see you Gansey.” 

 

“And you too,” Gansey replies, then, voice low, “is Blue here?” 

 

“Blue’s here,” Blue replies, “are you very unobservant or just blind? I walked up at the same time as Noah.” 

 

“Oh God,” Gansey says, “I’m sorry, I was very caught up in my sausages and -” 

 

“His sausages,” Noah repeats. 

 

“His  _ sausages _ ,” Ronan confirms. 

 

“Ah,” Blue says, “your sausages. Can I help out? I mean, with flipping shit, like Noah, not your sausages.” 

 

“God,” Gansey says. He turns and hands Noah his tongs, Blue his spatula, “please do. I’m just going to go find the drink ice bucket and dunk my head in it.” 

 

“C’mon dude,” Ronan grins, snagging him by the shoulders and tucking him in under his arm, “the ice challenge is so in the past.” 

 

-

 

Adam thinks, just vaguely, that this shouldn’t be going as well as it is. By all rights, no one here ought to fit so easily into each other. Blue shouldn’t be laughing with raven boys. Adam shouldn’t be eating so much steak. How is Noah allowed to fall asleep sprawled across Gansey’s lap and everyone is ok with it? He doesn’t want to leave come five thirty. He wants to stay curled up in the beanbag with Ronan, watching Blue play snap with Gansey across Noah. 

 

“We’ve gotta go,” Adam says, despite every single part of himself whining to stay where he is, “Blue, you wanna ride home?” 

 

“Um,” Blue says, slapping Gansey’s hand with possibly more force than necessary, “uh -”

 

“I can drop you home later on, if you like,” Gansey offers. 

 

“I’m good, Adam,” Blue says. 

 

Ronan snorts from half underneath Adam’s shoulder. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “cool. Catch you guys later, then? Someone say bye to Noah for me when he wakes up?” 

 

-

 

“That was nowhere near as weird as I thought it would be,” Adam says once they’re on the road on the way to Poppy’s.  “Noah is… crazy, but like, in a good way. I like him.” 

 

“Good,” Ronan says, “he’ll be sad he missed you going, he’s probably been waiting all evening to get to the point where he’s allowed to hug you.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam says, “ah.” 

 

Ronan glances at him, then back to the road, “you don’t gotta hug him, dude,” he says. 

 

“I know,” Adam scoffs. “He won’t feel too like, left out so long as you’re the only I hug, yeah?” 

 

“He’d probably get a little sad if you hugged Gansey as well and not him, yeah,” Ronan says, “you’re fine.” 

 

They drive in U2 infused quiet for a while, Adam’s hand resting lightly on Ronan’s wrist, then Ronan says; “did you wanna stay over tonight, then?” 

 

“Um,” Adam says. 

 

“You don’t need to feel weird about like, what happened this morning,” Ronan says, “and I swear mum won’t be grumpy about you staying over again.” 

 

“I’ve gotta go home,” Adam says. 

 

“Seriously?” Ronan says, “Your parents think it’s more important that you’re home after work than that you’re not cycling for like… an hour in the dark?” 

 

“C’mon, Ronan,” Adam sighs, “let’s not.” 

 

“How can I not?” Ronan snorts, “Are you serious that they’d prefer you came home in really fucking shitty conditions than staying out overnight?” 

 

“Pretty serious, yeah,” Adam says, “come on. Drop it.” 

 

“Babe,” Ronan says, “I’m really not good at dropping shit. This is - fuck, shit, Adam, this is -” 

 

“Please,” Adam says, “please. Look. I promise, I  _ promise _ that I will talk to you about this properly. Ok? I promise. But I - can we just be boyfriends for a little longer before we get all freaking serious? This is moving so fast. Let’s just slow down, ok?” 

 

Ronan glances at him, then away, then back, then away. He changes gears roughly, then moves his hand from the stick to wheel, effectively knocking Adam’s hand away. 

 

“Ronan,” Adam sighs. 

 

“No it’s fine,” Ronan says, “we can talk about it later. We can slow down. That’s fine.” 

 

“Ronan,” Adam tries again. 

 

“Honestly,” Ronan says, “you’re right. I was pushing shit. It’s  _ fine _ .” 

 

They’re at Poppy’s. Adam tells himself that if they still had a bit more time, if he wasn’t meant to be starting a shift in a couple of minutes, that he would stay right where he is and try to smooth this out right now. But, he does have to go in. He can’t smooth shit out right now. 

 

“Ok,” he says, “thanks for the ride. Will I see you tomorrow?” 

 

“I’m gonna be at Monmouth in the afternoon,” Ronan says out the windscreen, “so if you’re free, yeah. Come ‘round.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “can I kiss you bye?” 

 

Ronan exhales, keeps staring out the windscreen, “Thought we weren’t allowed to?” 

 

Adam frowns, “Ok then,” he says, “bye.” 

 

He regrets it already as his feet hit the pavement, regrets it more as he takes his bike out of the boot, regrets it enough to turn around and run back to the BMW to apologise by the time he’s locked his bike up, but Ronan’s already pulled out of the parking lot and is gone. 

 

“Fuck,” Adam says. 

 

He goes into Poppy’s. He does his shift. He works until eleven. 

 

-

 

If he had more energy, more time, more faith in himself, he would cycle the wrong way (or maybe the right way) and go to the Barns instead. He could throw fucking pebbles at Ronan’s window. He could apologise properly. He could just fucking stay the night like Ronan suggested because it made so much more sense than riding his bike back home like he did in the dark, and  _ God _ he hated being seventeen. He gets halfway to home before he decides that, fuck it. Fuck it. Just fuck it. What were his parents going to do to him? Hit him? So the fuck what? It wouldn’t be so bad, his dad didn’t do two bad beatings so close together, it wasn’t his style. Yell at him? So the fuck what. He could deal with that. What the real questions was, was what the fuck would Adam do if he’d fucked things up with Ronan? What the fuck? He’d felt like his insides were iced his entire shift at Poppy’s. It had actually physically hurt. He had felt nauseous. He had built it up too big, too dumb, too loud in his head until that was all he could think of. He probably wasn’t going to sleep tonight after all. 

 

He turns his bike around, he cycles back. It was the same distance, after all. 

 

When he finally bikes around the last curve of the driveway, bringing the Barns residence into view, his legs ache. He’s cold, he’s hot, he’s sweaty, he’s just fucking tired. He didn’t usually bike uphill at nightime. It was stupidly exhausting. He doesn’t know what he wants to say to Ronan, what he can say to Ronan, how to even get Ronan’s attention because it’s fucking late. It’s past midnight. Ronan would probably be in bed, asleep. 

 

He props his bike up against the barn anyway, greets a sleepy barn dog come out to investigate, and stares up at the dark house. All of his guts ache with anxiety. He crouches down in the gravel, lets the dog snuffle up against him, leans his head against its flank for a few moments until his breathing is less huffing. 

 

If this was like, a movie, he would throw pebbles. Or he would play music. Or Ronan would just  _ know _ something was up and would appear in the doorway. If Adam was a fucking normal person, he would have a cellphone. He could have texted Ronan. He could have phoned Ronan. He could have not been a dick. 

 

A movement on the edge of his vision catches his eye, and he turns to watch as Chainsaw swoops down from the side of the house towards him. Or, he assumes it’s Chainsaw. He doesn’t know for sure until she lands with a scuffle in the dirt beside him and the dog. 

 

“Hey,” Adam says, then immediately feels like an idiot for talking to a bird, he keeps talking to te bird like an idiot anyway. “How mad is Ronan, right now?” 

 

Chainsaw clucks at him, lifts her head as if in invitation for stroking, so Adam leans around the dog to pet her feathers a little bit. She nips at his fingers. 

 

“That mad, huh?” Adam asks. 

 

She looks at him for a long moment, head cocked to the side, eye beady, and then takes off back into the night. She melts a little in the darkness, but he thinks she’s flying towards the house. He doesn’t know what he expects, but well. He does know what he wishes he could expect. He stands up, using the dog to steady himself, and then he and the dog - he’s pretty sure the dog is called Mercutio - wander together across the grass around the side of the house and - 

 

Ronan’s bedroom light is on. 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. He hadn’t thought ravens were that smart. He knew they were smart, but, smart enough to show him this? Maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe it was coincidence. Either way. Maybe he should throw pebbles? Should he call to him? Would that wake everyone else? There weren’t any trees nearby for him to climb up to climb into the window - which was good because that would be creepy without any forewarning to be quite honest. He could - 

 

“What the hell, Parrish,” Ronan says from behind him. 

 

Adam whirls, heart loud in his chest. 

 

Ronan is standing there, barefoot, bare chested, in his boxers, in the grass. Chainsaw is on his shoulder. 

 

“What the  _ hell _ , Parrish,” Ronan repeats, “how long have you been out here?” 

 

“Um,” Adam says, because he still hadn’t figured out how to say shit, “I just got here. How did you - how’d you know I was here?” 

 

“I didn’t ‘til I saw you,” Ronan grunts, “Chainsaw tore into my room like a shithead and insisted I came outside. What’re you doing here?” 

 

Maybe coming here was a mistake. 

 

“I wanna say sorry,” Adam says. 

 

Ronan eyeballs him. “It’s like, fucking one,” he says, “it couldn’t wait?” 

 

Maybe coming here was a mistake. 

 

“It could’ve,” Adam admits, “but I wasn’t sure I could, I - fuck, Ronan, I’ve been dying about it all night.” 

 

Ronan suddenly looks a lot softer than he had a few seconds ago. He shrugs, and Chainsaw takes off. “C’mere, you dipshit,” he says, holding out one arm, “you’re such a fucking idiot, honestly.” 

 

“Don’t be so shitty,” Adam grumbles, but steps over to press in against Ronan anyway, “I’m really sorry.” 

 

“You’re so dumb,” Ronan groans, wrapping his arms around Adam’s shoulders tightly, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have pushed, and I shouldn’t have fucking - been a dick about the kiss, and I shouldn’t have taken off so quick. I’m sorry.” 

 

“Fuck,” Adam sniffs against Ronan’s neck, “I’m sorry for - shit - for being so closed off and for getting out and just - yeah. Turning up here at one like a complete mess.” 

 

“You are a mess,” Ronan says, not meanly, he presses a kiss against the crown of Adam’s head, “we probably shouldn’t have this conversation right now, yeah? You sound exhausted.” 

 

“I am,” Adam admits. Exhausted enough that he thinks that maybe crying is an option here. “I am.” 

 

“Come inside,” Ronan says, “dumbass. Come to bed. We’ll sort this shit out later.” 

 

“Are we ok?” Adam says, “Are we gonna break up?” 

 

“What?” Ronan says, “We’re fine. Babe. We’re not gonna fucking break up. We had a dumb fight. It happens. Come on. Bed.” 

 

Adam lets Ronan pull away, lets him take his hand, lets him nudge the dog out of their path with his foot, lets him lead him inside, up the stairs, sit him down on the edge of his bed. 

 

“You gonna take your backpack off?” Ronan asks, stepping back to look at Adam. Adam looks back. He’s so stupidly tired. “Baby,” Ronan says, “c’mon.” 

 

Adam shrugs his backpack off. His shoes are still on. He frowns at them. Attempts to kick them off. 

 

“Fucks sake,” Ronan says, “I dunno if his is adorable or worrying. Chill. I’ll take your fucking shoes off.” 

 

He lets Ronan undo his shoelaces, take his shoes off. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly feeling so useless. So bone dead. Maybe it’s the relief. Maybe it’s the physical work. Who knows. 

 

“Do you wanna keep your pants on?” Ronan asks. Adam shakes his head. “Do you want me to take them off for you?” Ronan asks. Adam nods his head. “Is this a ploy to get me to take your pants off?” Ronan asks, probably an attempt at humour. Adam shakes his head. Ronan takes his pants off. 

 

“Shirt?” Ronan asks, Adam shakes his head. “Shower?” Ronan asks, Adam rolls his eyes. “Sleep?”

 

Hopefully Aurora wouldn’t be pissed off when/if she finds out he slept in the same bed as Ronan, but, he’s so tired. And he’s so - he doesn’t know what. He just wants to be pressed up against Ronan. He fucking hates having emotions. He feels fucking crippled by them sometimes. Like he’s drowning in need and he can’t even speak to say what it is he needs. 

 

Right now Ronan doesn’t seem to mind. Appears to be fine with shoving Adam further over into the bed, with Adam wrapping himself around Ronan as soon as Ronan climbs in next to him. 

 

“When do you have to be in town, tomorrow?” Ronan asks, his mouth pressed against Adam’s forehead, words spoken directly to his skin. 

 

“Seven,” Adam mumbles back, “I’ll bike.” 

 

“You fucking won’t,” Ronan says, “I’ll drive you, you shit stack. Go to sleep.” 

 

Adam considers not going to sleep so he can try to explain to Ronan why he’s so upset and miserable and stupid and also maybe get that goodbye kiss now but recycled as a goodnight kiss, but his eyes close and he falls asleep before he can finish considering that. 

 

-

 

He opens his eyes again way to soon. The room is still dark, because, well, the room is almost always dark when he wakes up seeing as he usually wakes up ridiculously early. Ronan is slung all around him, his dick is poking him in the hip. Adam has not fucking cum in his undies again. This is a relief. 

 

“Ronan,” Adam says. 

 

“I don’t wanna eat pickled toads,” Ronan replies. 

 

“Babe,” Adam snorts. 

 

“God,” Ronan says, opening his eyes, “ _ God _ , why - ugh - fuck.” 

 

“You good?” 

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ronan grumbles, “weird dreams.” 

 

“About pickled toads?” 

 

“About Gansey’s parents,” Ronan replies, “are we seriously getting up now?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Adam says, “I have to, at least. It’s quarter past.” 

 

“Shit,” Ronan says, sitting bolt upright, “quarter past seven? Shit fuck sorry, are you later?” 

 

“Nah,” Adam says quickly, tugging at Ronan’s arm, “babe. Quarter past six. I just wanna get up and take a shower before we go.” 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan groans, drops himself back down on the pillows, “go on then. You know where the towels are. Kiss me.” 

 

“You’ve got gross morning breath,” Adam says, kisses him.

  
  


-

  
  


“I don’t know where to start this conversation,” Adam admits, seventeen minutes later, freshly showered, dressed, and breakfasted, sitting in the BMW’s passenger seat, “I - I don’t know how to do this.” 

 

“Well shit, man,” Ronan says, “neither.” 

 

“I don’t want us to like… fuck this up because I’m bad at communicating,” Adam says. 

 

“I think we gotta say we’re both bad at it,” Ronan says. 

 

“Sure,” Adam snorts, “ok. So. Listen - I just - I guess I wanna start this off by saying that I’m sorry for just turning up at yours at ass in the morning. I freaked myself out. I’m not used to - I guess - not used to my fucking feelings having consequences.” 

 

“I don’t mind you turning up at ass in the morning,” Ronan replies, “seriously. If you’re feeling fucked up you can come over whenever.” 

 

“When I said we should slow down last night,” Adam sighs, watches as Ronan’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, “I didn’t really mean it. I meant - I was just trying to protect myself. Because - c’mon. You know we just  _ met each other _ . So recently. And I’m already - you’re already so important to me. I’m already in so deep. It was so fast. It’s kind of terrifying.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says, “I get it. I think. So. How do you want us to slow it down?” 

 

“No,” Adam sighs, “I don’t want us to. That was me trying to avoid talking about shit, like an asshole. I don’t actually want to slow down because I really, really like this. I really like you. I wanna just - I don’t understand how I like you so much.” 

 

Ronan laughs, “Gee,” he says, “thank you. I dunno why I like you so much either.” 

 

“I’m gonna try being more honest with you,” Adam says, “truly. I’m gonna - we can talk about shit like this.” 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Yeah that’s why I - that’s what I came over last night - this morning - to tell you. That I don’t care how quick this is, how stupidly fast I fell for you or whatever. I don’t think there’s any point in trying to pretend to myself that I don’t want this to be so… intimate already, so. I might as well just let you in on everything. Or as much as I can without imploding, y’know.” 

 

“Wow,” Ronan says, “It’s not even seven and we’re already having such coherent emotions. Fuck would mum be proud of us right now.” 

 

“Piss off,” Adam says. “Is there anything else - anything more you want us to talk about? Or say? Or whatever?” 

 

“I dunno,” Ronan says, “it’s too early. Just. Thanks. I guess. And I mean, I’ll try and be more fucking mature too. And talk to you about shit too. Because I like you a fuck load, man. Dude. Babe. A lot. So. Yeah.” 

 

“You’re such a little shit,” Adam says, “ok. Ok. Cool?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan agrees, “cool. You gonna come to Gansey’s this afternoon?” 

 

“Yeah I think so,” Adam says, “think he’ll care if we make out in front of him?” 

 

“He’ll live,” Ronan says. 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AS always this is unedited, so,   
> Thanks for coming back!

It isn’t that Ronan regrets dropping out of Aglionby, because, he really fucking doesn’t. Dropping out of Aglionby was the best thing he did that asshole of a year, possibly the only good thing he did. It isn’t that he resents working on the farm, because, he actually really likes it. He loves working with animals, and he loves the physical side of it, and he loves the fucking aesthetic side of it, and he loves getting to be out in the fields with his mum.

He absolutely prefers school term to school holidays, because that means that Gansey and Noah are in town, and there’s more of a routine around him to keep him getting up and going to bed, but, well, now. 

 

It’s that now there was Adam too, and Adam barely had free time in the holidays, so, now he was back at school he had even less free time. 

 

There’s an actual entire week that Ronan very seriously considers going to Mountain View. Because. Because. Because then he’d get to see Adam. That was the only pro of the idea. The cons were numerous; school, shitty school, no Gansey or Noah, other students, all the fucked up rumors about him, school, Adam being busy at school and probably not getting to spend much time with him anyway, distracting Adam, being a nuisance, embarrassing Adam. 

 

He feels like he’s been spoiled on Adam over the holidays. Getting to see him so often, to the point that Adam stayed over at least twice a week, that they had lunch together most days, that if Ronan was at Monmouth, Adam often was too. Now, Adam had school and work, which meant that Ronan only regularly got to see Adam on Friday nights because Adam would come to his after Poppy’s to stay the night, and he got to see Adam on Tuesday afternoons between three and five thirty but had to be ok with Adam doing his homework, and if he was lucky, he got to see Adam for lunch on Sundays because Adam could take his lunch break at Boyd’s.

Sometimes they could sneak in some extra time, if Ronan was in town at the right time, if Adam had less homework one day, if his shift finished early. 

 

It would have been almost unbearable if not for Adam buying a small shitty cell phone the last day of holidays. 

 

“I’m only buying texts,” Adam had told him, very seriously after they’d swapped numbers, “and it’s only got your number. I can’t like… text you all the time, but, y’know how I’m gonna be so much more strapped for time when school starts. So. yeah.” 

 

“This is a very romantic gesture, shit head,” Ronan had replied, “what are we supposed to be texting about? Eggplant emojis?” 

 

“Piss off,” Adam had snorted, shoving Ronan in the side, “we could. But. I meant. For things like, saying goodnight. Or asking how you are. Just, for when we don’t get to see each other much. So we can still just - God. Listen, I wanna get to let you know when I wanna kiss you even if I can’t kiss you for a couple of days.” 

 

“This sounds like hell,” Ronan had observed, “I don’t wanna wait a couple of days for a kiss you wanna give me.” 

 

“You’ll survive.” 

 

-

 

A month and a half in and Ronan was surviving. Things were pretty good. He had a boyfriend who he really, really, really, really liked (even if he didn’t get to see him enough (or even half of enough)). Gansey and Noah were in town and he got to spend a lot of time with them, going on hikes, playing pool, going to the actual pool, fucking about in the parking lot with their cars or fireworks or whatever. Declan was back in DC at uni so it was much easier to love him because he wasn’t around saying irritating things (also much easier to miss because Ronan had gotten used to getting his half hugs and playful noogies). Matthew was at school, and at his friends’, and his various sweat inducing activities, which meant he wasn’t around all the time being a perfect yet loud angel, and Ronan got more time to himself. To himself and the cows and his mum. 

 

The thing was. 

 

God. 

 

Right. The thing was that he was happy. He was. He was happy. He was. But. 

 

Fuck. 

 

The thing was that he wasn’t fucking happy, and he fucking ought to be happy. He should be happy. 

 

He wasn’t happy, but there was nothing he could  _ do  _ about the reasons he knew he was unhappy. He accepted that Adam would be busy, he accepted that he had to just take the small snatches of Adam that he got. He didn’t accept the bruises on Adam’s skin, so regular even though Adam tried to tell him it would lessen during school term. Adam talked to him about it more, but he was still so adamant that he was fine. That it would be fine. That he could last out his plan. It felt pointless to say that sometimes it wasn’t about what Adam could hack it was about what Ronan could hack, so he didn’t say it. 

 

It wasn’t all about Adam, of course, that was just an easy thing to pin it on because it was the most obvious, the most prominent in Ronan’s life. It was his constant, formless sort of… he never knew how to put it. Despair? Disgust with himself? Disinterest with life? Just the background noise of wanting to lie in the dark in his room and never go out again. The background grief of losing his father, his dreams, even Kavinsky, and, himself, almost. If he didn’t actually  _ think _ about them it was a duller pain, but it was always still there - just a hum. If he did think about it. About what he’d lost. What he’d done to himself. Whatever. It was too sharp. Disabling. He avoided the thoughts in his mind like he avoided the road the crash had been on, like he avoided the back shed where he’d tried to get rid of himself, like - whatever. Whatever 

 

-

 

Thursday 8:36PM 

(Adam) - I can stay until avo on sat :) 

 

(Ronan) ~ looking forward to it

 

\- im at work rn i’ll talk to you later x

 

~ ttyl x

 

-

 

“I’ve got your washing,” Aurora says, knocking on his door frame and pushing at the ajar door, “as well as the news that we need to retrain Matty how to do the washing. He put his new sport uniform in and your lovely white shirt is a pretty pink now. What do you think?” 

 

Ronan assumes his mother is holding his newly pink shirt up for judging, but he’s currently on his side, half under his desk, stroking Chainsaw’s feathers while she pulls the seam out of his shirt sleeve and he doesn’t feel up to shifting enough to look up. 

 

“I think it’ll bring out your eyes,” Aurora says after a few moments. There’s a soft noise which Ronan assumes is Aurora putting the washing down on the chair by Ronan’s door. “Will you talk with Matty, then?” 

 

“Mhm,” Ronan mumbles. 

 

“What’re you doing down there?” Aurora asks. 

 

Hanging with Chainsaw, Ronan says. Or. He doesn’t actually say it. He says it in his head and then can’t be bothered rectifying it. He’s just tired. 

 

“Baby,” Aurora says. She’s not in the doorway anymore, she’s right behind him, having walked over nearly soundlessly due to the makeshift carpet that was Ronan’s clothes strewn on the wood floor. “Did something happen?” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says, then changes his mind, because she was gonna find out in a few days anyway, so like, what was the point? “Yeah.”

 

“What’s up?” Aurora asks. She’s crouching down behind him, then sitting down behind him, reaching under the desk to rest her hand in between his shoulder blades. 

 

“He says he’s fine,” Ronan mumbles, speaking at Chainsaw rather than his mother, “but Blue talked to Noah or Gansey, and Gansey texted me. He’d a broken nose at school today.” 

 

“Gansey did?” Aurora asks, and then obviously realises her mistake because she follows up with a small soft noise, and says; “That poor boy.” 

 

“He could move in here, right?” Ronan asks Chainsaw, “we have room. We could have him here. He could drive the BMW into town for his jobs. That could work, yeah?” 

 

“He’s welcome to move in here,” Aurora says after a few moments, “in a different room to you, of course. Has he asked?” 

 

Ronan snorts. “No,” he says, “can you imagine?” 

 

Aurora rubs her hand up and down Ronan’s back, a wordless answer. 

 

“This is why you’re under your desk?” She asks a few long breaths later. 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says, “I’m under my desk because Chainsaw insisted.” 

 

“She is very strong willed,” Aurora agrees. “As is Adam. They both know what they want, and they get it. Adam’s going to be ok, baby. He just needs to learn to ask for things. Or demand, like Chainsaw does.” 

 

Ronan snorts. 

 

-

 

Friday 4:32PM

-hey ro, just a heads up tht i look a bit of a mess rn. Im ok! Just dont want you to freak out when you see me xxx

 

~is poppy still gnna let u work if u look fucked up?

 

-she wont b happy about it but no one else is available to work tonight so she’ll have to deal. 

 

~will you tell me what happened? 

 

-it wasnt anything big

 

~will you tell me anyway?

 

-if you want. 

-i’ll see you tonight, ok? i’ll text you before i leave poppy’s. 

 

~xxx

 

-xxxx

 

-

 

“Don’t forget to make up Adam’s bed,” Aurora says, passing by Ronan’s bedroom, “he is coming tonight, yes?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan mumbles from his bed, “I’ll get it out in a minute.” 

 

He listens as she moves on, then as she pauses, and comes back to his door to peer in. 

 

“Baby?” 

 

“Uh-huh?” 

 

“Feed the dogs before dinner too, will you?” 

 

“Uh, yeah,” Ronan says, “I know.” 

 

“Just reminding you,” she says, looking in at him, eyes narrowed. 

 

“What?” he asks, dropping his phone onto his chest and looking back at her. He hadn’t been doing much on his phone, just scrolling through some news articles Gansey had sent him. 

 

“Can’t I just look at you?” Aurora asks, smiling at him, “You’re so lovely to look at.” 

 

“Kuh,” Ronan huffs, “you’re so cheesy, sometimes.” 

 

“It’s a mama’s right,” Aurora says sternly, “I’ll be as cheesy as I like.” 

 

“Hm,” Ronan says, “go look at Matty then. I’m gonna get Adam’s bed set up.” 

 

-

 

Adam’s schedule means he gets to the Barns about half past eleven, which is not exactly a meal time, but Aurora always cooks his portion of dinner as well to put in the fridge in case he’s hungry when he turns up. He’s always hungry, so he always eats it, so Ronan’s got into the routine of going down to the kitchen at about twenty five past eleven to put his plate in the microwave for him. The door stays unlocked until Adam turns up, and Adam locks it behind him when he comes in. it’s all routine now. Ronan will be in the kitchen, Adam will come to him, they’ll kiss hello, Adam will eat his dinner while Ronan chats or mucks about or steals some chips or whatever, they’ll go upstairs, sometimes Adam will shower, they’ll go to bed. 

 

Tonight’s routine goes awry before they even kiss hello. 

 

“Hey,” Adam says from the kitchen doorway. 

 

Ronan doesn’t glance over his shoulder to look at him because he doesn’t want to see the damage yet, and also because he’s trying to unstick the cutlery drawer. He’s pretty sure Matthew got it stuck with a fork earlier by mistake and just left it for the next person because he can be a little brat. 

 

“Hey,” Ronan says, “ok night?” 

 

Adam doesn’t reply. Ronan jiggles the drawer just right and it springs open. Adam crosses the room behind him and sits down at the counter. Ronan grabs the cutlery, grabs Adam’s dinner plate, turns around. 

 

Adam is slouched at the counter. He has dark hollow looking bruises under his eyes, and his nose looks like it’s all just a bruise. It’s a little better than Ronan had feared, but not by much. Worse, he looks utterly miserable. Not just exhausted and stretched thin like he usually looked, especially by this time of night, but like he’s on the verge of tears. 

 

“Hey,” Ronan says, “hey,” he repeats, putting the plate and cutlery down in front of Adam and leaning across the counter, “what’s up?” 

 

Adam sniffs harshly, rubs under his nose with the back of his hand, then flinches as if he’d forgotten it would hurt. 

 

“C’mere,” Adam says, lifting his arm. 

 

Ronan peels himself away from the counter, circles around it, presses himself up against Adam’s side under his arm and kisses his cheek. 

 

“What’s up?” he repeats, “You look like shit.” 

 

“I told you I’d look like shit,” Adam replies bleakly, shifting on his stool a little so he can more easily wrap both his arms around Ronan, rests his forehead on Ronan’s shoulder. 

 

“I mean,” Ronan says into Adam’s hair, “your face looks like shit too, but I meant - why do you look like someone ran over your dog? Shit - no one ran over Lucy, did they?” 

 

“You’re so rude. Lucy is fine,” Adam sighs, “s’far as I know. Her owner was taking her for a run this morning when I left for school.” 

 

“Ok good,” Ronan says, then decides he’s done dancing, “come on. Out with it. What happened?” 

 

Adam sighs. 

 

“Um,” he says, “I just - shit. Ronan. I talked to Poppy this evening. She’s shutting down.” 

 

“What?” Ronan asks, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?” 

 

“I mean what I said,” Adam says, “I mean she’s closing the diner. She’s selling to to a company who wants to demolish it and turn the place into a motel. I’m losing my job.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “oh fuck, babe -” 

 

“I don’t -” Adam sighs again, heavier this time like it’s a substitute for something else, “I have two more shifts with her before she’s closing. So. I have two weeks to find something else. I know it’s not like - it’s not like I have heaps of hours there, but she paid the best of all my jobs, I’m not gonna find anywhere else in town that’ll fit around my schedule and pay me as well. Ronan - I - God. I dunno.” 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan reiterates. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be saying here. There isn’t really much he can say except for the aforementioned ‘fuck’. “Shit, babe, that’s - that’s fucked.” 

 

Adam sighs again. He’s all stiff in Ronan’s arms, even though he’s clutching Ronan tightly to him. 

 

“It’ll be ok,” Ronan tries, because it always sounds useful coming out of his mum’s mouth, “we’ll figure something out.” 

 

Adam doesn’t reply, just shifts his face a little against Ronan’s shoulder so he can reach up around Ronan to rub at his cheeks before pulling away. He smiles weakly at Ronan, the shape of it only a shape, no emotion reaching his eyes. It somehow makes his bruising look even more ghastly. 

 

“It’ll be fine,” Adam agrees in his fake voice which Ronan thinks he doesn’t realise sounds as fake as it does. “This smells great,” he adds on, turning to nod at the dinner. “Thanks for saving for me.” 

 

That was always routine. Adam always thanks Ronan for saving him dinner, no matter how many times they do it, he always seems a little surprised. 

 

“It’s whatever,” Ronan says. He grabs one of the counter stools and hops up on it, shuffling it loudly sideways until it’s flush against Adam’s stool, leans in against his side. “Hurry up and eat so we can go to bed.” 

 

Adam picks up the fork and pokes unenthusiastically at the food. “Tell me about your day?” he asks. 

 

-

 

Adam showers after he eats, and by the time he comes into the bedroom, still toweling his hair dry, Ronan is already in his bed, fiddling with a playlist he’s trying to put together for Adam. He has enough room on his crap phone for about twenty songs at a time, which is a sin, so Ronan tries to make him a new playlist every week to give him something to listen to while he cycles around. 

 

“What’re you doing?” Adam asks, pausing near the door to shut it. 

 

“Making you a new playlist. I’m pretty sure you’re really gonna like this instrumental. You ready for bed?” he adds, glancing up as Adam hangs his towel on the laundry chair by the door. 

 

“Mm,” Adam says, “want the light off?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, locks his phone, and puts it on his bedside table as Adam turns the light off. 

 

There’s a half moment of silence in the darkness of the room, and then his mattress dips as Adam climbs onto the edge of it. 

 

They don’t break Aurora’s rules of sleeping in separate beds, of course, Ronan wouldn’t think about giving his mum shit like that, so Adam always gets back into his bed when they go to sleep. Before they go to sleep is fair game though. He tugs his blanket up and Adam slides in against Ronan’s side. 

 

Often Adam is extremely cuddly at this point, like he’s been deprived of human touch since the last time they’d seen each other. Tonight he’s even cuddlier than he usually is, pressing himself up closer than ought to be possible, hands sliding up and down Ronan’s side like he can’t decide where he wants to be holding onto because he wants to hold all of Ronan. Ronan tries to hold him back, but it’s… it’s like Adam has something frantic going on under his skin that leaves him too restless to keep his hands still and also for Ronan to keep his hands still on him, because everytime Ronan’s hands rest on Adam for too long Adam twitches and shifts under him until Ronan moves his hands again and it’s just - 

 

“Adam,” Ronan breathes, “God, did Matty put itching powder in the body wash or something?” 

 

“Sorry,” Adam mumbles, suddenly completely still against Ronan, “sorry. I’m just - I’m thinking about - I’m gonna have to tell my parents. It’s so stupid, like, I know this isn’t my fault. She’s shutting down. It has nothing to do with me. I still feel guilty though. Like I’ve been fired.” 

 

He’s speaking short and stilted, like every word is forced out of him. Probably every word is being forced out of him. Ronan appreciates it, he knows this shit is hard for Adam, fuck, it’s hard for Ronan. Adam had promised to be more honest about shit, to tell him more shit, and he is, even though Ronan can hear how fucking difficult it is. 

 

“That’s fucking dumb,” Ronan says comfortingly, “babe - look - you know there’s no way your parents can blame you for the place shutting down.” 

 

Adam makes a harsh noise. Ronan thinks it was supposed to be a laugh.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Ronan tries. 

 

“It’s gonna be,” Adam whispers. He shivers suddenly, though Ronan knows he can’t be cold. His skin is still warm from the shower, and he’s pressed skin to skin to Ronan under the blankets. 

 

“Babe,” Ronan whispers, “babe. Move in here.” 

 

Adam makes the harsh noise again. Shivers again. His hands have started shifting against Ronan’s waist, the restlessness restarting.  

 

“Adam,” Ronan says, emphatic, “you don’t even need to go home. Just stay here. We could make that work.” 

 

Ronan knows Adam can only say these kind of fear induced statements in the dark, just like Ronan knows he can only ask Adam this kind of stupid thing in the dark. Neither of them can look the other in the face for this. It requires darkness.  

 

Adam’s fingers press in against Ronan’s ribs, and then his mouth is against Ronan’s throat, wet and hot. 

 

“Adam,” Ronan tries again as Adam kisses up Ronan’s throat, teeth scraping against Ronan’s’ jaw. He knows the conversation is over, he knows he’s going to give in to how much he too wants to be just kissing Adam right now, but he’s gotta try. Doesn’t he? He’s gotta try. 

 

“Ronan,” Adam replies, kisses the corner of Ronan’s mouth, “Ro,” his mouth is against Ronan’s now, not kissing him, waiting to be kissed, “Ro.” 

 

Ronan kisses him. It’s too tempting. He spends about seventy percent of his time wanting to be wrapped around Adam, and the other thirty percent wrapped around Adam. He can’t just not kiss him. He kisses him. Opens his mouth against Adam’s, tugs at Adam until Adam is lying on top of him, pressing him down into the mattress, weight comfortingly familiar, kisses Adam until he realises his face is wet. 

 

“Adam,” he gets out, Adam’s mouth is still trying to kiss his, “Adam, shit, hey -” he says, “is this hurting your face?” he asks, “Fuck, are you ok?” 

 

It’s still dark, but their eyes have adjusted to it, or the moon’s gotten brighter, and Ronan can see all too clearly the downturn of Adam’s mouth, the still falling tears. He’d thought the rough breathing had been from their kissing and wandering hands, but now, seeing Adam’s face, he’s pretty sure he was wrong. 

 

“I’m fine,” Adam says roughly. He swipes too harshly at his face, the tensing of his body giving away the pain it caused, “I’m just - it’s so much. I’m fine, Ronan,” he says, kisses Ronan’s cheek, “honestly. Honestly. Sometimes you just need to cry. You know? I’m fine.” 

 

Sure. Ronan gets that sometimes you just need to cry. He’s heard his mum tell him it’s healthy to cry often enough. He’s said it to Matthew often enough himself. Just, he’s pretty sure it’s maybe a little less healthy to do while making out with and grinding up against your boyfriend. 

 

“So cry,” Ronan grunts, “but don’t - you don’t - God. You don’t need to fucking hide it by trying to distract me.” 

 

“It wasn’t you I was trying to distract,” Adam says. His voice is remarkably steady for someone with tears still streaming down their face. He rolls off of Ronan’s chest so he’s pressed between the wall and Ronan, rubs at his face again. “Sorry.” 

 

“You don’t need to fucking apologise either,” Ronan says, has to keep grunting so he can talk, “fuck. Adam. Just - fuck. I wanna - you can fucking tell me shit.” 

 

“I have,” Adam says. His starting to lose control of his voice now, it wavers, “I am. I do,” he insists. There’s an echo of a sob. “I just wanna be held. Just hold me. Please. Hold me.” This isn’t an echo, it’s a full fledged sob. His whole fucking body is shaking. 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan hisses. He’s already pressed up against Adam but he pushes closer anyway, wrapping his arms tight back around Adam, pulling him against his chest, slotting their legs together, “fuck. Adam, hey. Hey. it’s ok. You’re ok, babe. I’ve got you.” 

 

“I’m so tired,” Adam sobs, “there’s too much to do. I don’t wanna do this. I don’t wanna - I can’t - I’m so tired.” 

 

“I know,” Ronan tries, “I know. I know. We’ll work it out. Ok? We’ll work it out. Things are gonna be ok. You’re ok. It’s - fuck. It’s ok.” 

 

Adam doesn’t reply, either because he can’t speak through his shuddered sobs now, or because he doesn’t want to. When he’s not speaking through them, his sobs are fucking quiet as all shit. If Ronan wasn’t holding him and couldn’t literally feel them, he wasn’t sure if he’d notice it happening further away from him in the dark. The thought makes him feel almost sick. He’s too quiet, fingers knotting in Ronan’s sleep shirt, holding him tight, making himself present, but keeping himself so invisible in his silence.

 

He doesn’t know how long it takes. It feels like forever, because he doesn’t know what to say, what to do to make this better. Adam shaking silently against him, then just shivering against him, and then finally lying still in Ronan’s arms, breathing even. The front of Ronan’s shirt is soaking. 

 

“Talk to me,” Ronan tries. Hopes it doesn’t prompt more crying. 

 

“Poppy’s is how I make most of my leaving money,” Adam says after a moment, his voice scratchy, “‘cos they - my parents - don’t know how much I get. They assume it’s less. I had - I used to do the same at Boyd’s, but they found out, and it was - it was -. So I - I need every fucking dollar they don’t know about, and not having the ones from Poppy’s anymore is gonna make so much shit so much harder. I don’t - and I have so much homework. I hate homework so fucking much. I’m too busy for homework. I’m too tired for homework. The bulb is blown in my room, it’s so hard to do my homework - I - what am I going to do if I can’t get my homework done? What if I fail my classes? What if I don’t get the grades I need to get out of here? What if my grades don’t get me out of here and I don’t even have enough money saved up to get out of here anyway? What then - what - what -” he breaks off, breath harsh again. 

 

Ronan doesn’t have a single fucking answer. He’s fucking useless. Fuck. 

 

“We have lots of bulbs downstairs,” Ronan says eventually, “a whole fucking drawer of them. Heaps. We probably have one that’d work, take one of them. And I’ll - I’ll help you look for a new job if you want. And -  _ God _ \- listen - babe - there’s no way you’re gonna fail. No way. You’re gonna be fine. It’s all gonna be fine, ok?” 

 

It’s weak, pathetic, but it’s all he can offer. Well. it isn’t, but it’s all he can offer that he knows Adam will accept. 

 

“It’s gonna be fine,” Adam repeats, clears his throat, “it’s gonna be fine.’ 

 

“Want some water?” Ronan asks. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam replies, “please.” 

 

Ronan sits up as far as he can while keeping an arm wrapped around Adam and grabs his water bottle from his bedside table, hands it to Adam. 

 

“Hey,” Adam whispers as he takes the bottle, “I know it’s - I know it’s against the rules - I - can I sleep with you?” he asks, “Just sleeping. I promise.” 

 

Ronan’s first instinct is to say no, because he’d told his mum they wouldn’t and he hated giving her reasons to distrust him, but. But. 

 

“Yeah,” he whispers, lying back down against Adam, pressing his lips to Adam’s cheek, “of course.” 

 

Adam drinks some water, hands the bottle back. Ronan puts it back on the table, turns back to Adam to pull him back into his arms, kisses his salty cheeks. 

 

“I’ll get out and into my bed really early,” Adam whispers, “I don’t want you to get into trouble.” 

 

“It’s ok,” Ronan whispers back, “you don’t have to do that.” 

 

“I will,” Adam says, “I’m not getting you into trouble.” 

 

-

 

He doesn’t wake up when Adam gets out of bed, although he had expected to, especially seeing as Adam was on the wall side, which means that when he wakes up, it’s to an empty bed, and Aurora knocking on the door. 

 

“You boys decent?” She calls through the door. 

 

“Yes,” Adam replies. Ronan hadn’t realised he was awake, but he’s sitting up now so Ronan can see him. 

 

Aurora opens the door. The entire room is silent for a moment as both Ronan and Aurora take in just how disheveled Adam looks. His bruising is the same as the previous night, but his eyes are bloodshot, and the bruising under his eyes are deepened by the darker than usual shadows. 

 

“Oh, honey,” Aurora sighs, and Adam looks away. 

 

He has an almost perpetual crease between his brows, and now it’s deeper than usual as he looks down at his blanketed knees as Aurora steps across the floor towards him. She crouches down by the mattress and reaches out to touch his shoulder, and then his face. 

 

“You put some bruise cream on this?” She asks. Adam nods. “Did you ice it after it happened?” Adam shakes his head. “Your nose looks pretty straight,” she says, scrutinising his downturned face carefully, “did you see a doctor?” 

 

“No,” Adam says, “Blue did it.” 

 

“Ah,” Aurora says, “well. She did a good job.” 

 

Adam nods, eyes closed. Ronan wants to climb out of his bed onto Adam’s and hold him. He reaches out instead, hooks his fingers in the fabric of Adam’s t-shirt. 

 

“Ronan,” Aurora says, “can you get the eggs in?” 

 

Ronan gapes at his mother. His sensible parts can tell she’s trying to get him out of the room so she can talk to Adam more frankly, but every other part of him is betrayed. He nods anyway. 

 

“I’ll go with you,” Adam says. He obviously also knows just what Aurora is doing, and is already saying no to her frank words. “I love getting the eggs in.” 

 

Aurora pauses, then nods. “You only love it because the chickens have decided you’re the one person who they don’t want to fight.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam returns, a faint smile appearing, “true. It’s super fun watching Ronan get rushed by a horde of chickens.” 

 

“You’re such a dick,” Ronan says, yanks at Adam’s shirt a little so his knuckles press into Adam’s back. 

 

“Ok,” Aurora says, leans in and kisses Adam on the forehead before standing back up. “I’m making hash for breakfast,” she says. 

 

“Oh mum!” Ronan says, “We’re doing drugs now?” 

 

Aurora snorts, points at Ronan and raises her eyebrows, “go get the eggs in or you won’t get your drugs for breakfast.” 

 

-

 

“Holy shit!” Matthew announces at breakfast as he plonks himself down in the chair opposite Adam, “That’s hardcore!” 

 

“Language,” Aurora says. 

 

“Sorry mum,” Matthew says, “dude, what happened?” he asks as he grabs the tomato sauce and pours possibly half the bottle onto his full plate. 

 

Matthew has somehow, despite the frequency of Adam’s bruises, not become aware of where Adam gets his bruises from, nor does he cease to be surprised, curious, and upset about them. 

 

“Wrestled a pig and it headbutted me in the face,” Adam replies, grinding pepper over his plate, “word of advice, Matty, never wrestle pigs. They cheat.” 

 

Matthew laughs. 

 

“What are you boys going to do today?” Aurora asks, “Ronan says we’ve got you until the afternoon, Adam?” 

 

“I have some homework,” Adam admits, “uh, otherwise - I dunno, Ro?” 

 

“Baby goats,” Ronan replies promptly, “we’re going to spend the rest of the morning, once king nerd is finished nerding it up, with the baby goats.” 

 

“Oh!” Matthew says, spits hash onto the table, “Did one of the hands already go feed them? I wanted to feed them this morning!” 

 

“Ok, you little muck,” Aurora says, “if you want to feed the babies, you’ve gotta get up a little earlier, huh?” 

 

“Ugh,” Matthew says, “mum, it’s my God given right, as a teenager, to sleep in until I’m dragged out of bed!” 

 

“I don’t recall God giving you that right,” Aurora replies, “and I’m sure he would’ve told me if he’d told you.” 

 

“Ugh,” Matthew reiterates. 

 

“They need feeding like, all day, Matty,” Ronan snorts, “you can go out and ask Lou or Steve when they’re feeding them next and join in then.” 

 

“Oh yeah,” Matthew says, brightening right back up, “haha, duh!” 

 

-

 

While Adam does his homework, Ronan examines the light bulb drawer. Occasionally he suspects his father might have been a bit of a hoarder, due to the drawers and cupboards of just… oddities. But things like this were always useful. 

 

“Here,” he says, about five minutes later, placing a selection of boxed bulbs on the bedspread in front of Adam, “which one?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, glancing up from his algebra, “um,” he squints a little and leans forward to look at the boxes a bit closer. Ronan has started having this sneaking suspicion that possibly his shit of a boyfriend needs some fucking glasses. “This one,” he says, pointing at the box closest to Ronan. “Thanks, babe,” he adds. 

 

“Don’t mention it,” Ronan replies, “I’m putting it in your bag so you can’t conveniently forget it,” he adds, hopping off of the bed and moving to put the bulb in Adam’s bag leaning against the desk. 

 

“Ok,” Adam replies absently. He’s already back in the algebra. Chainsaw is perched on his knee. She also looks to be absorbed in maths, but Ronan thinks she’s probably just wondering if she can steal the pencil right out of Adam’s hand without him noticing. 

 

Ronan scoops up the rest of the bulbs, returns them to the drawer. It’s a bit stupid, but, he likes knowing what type of bulb Adam’s room takes. He knows nothing about what Adam’s house looks like. Nothing about where Adam sleeps. About his room. He’s never even been down the barely there drive that leads to the trailer park Adam lives in. He’ll take anything, even just these small snippets. Sometimes Adam says something, like, the bathroom mirror has a chip right in the middle so Adam can never see his full face. They’re just passing comments, but Ronan remembers each one. He knows Adam’s bed is about half the size of Ronan’s, that his pillow case has a huge purple stain from where he spilled a glass of sachet juice when he was younger. Now he knows the kind of light bulb. 

 

When he returns upstairs, Adam and Chainsaw are wrestling with the pencil. Well, probably playing, but Chainsaw is most likely playing a little more seriously than Adam is. 

 

“You done?” Ronan asks, climbing onto the bed behind Adam and pressing himself up against Adam’s back, “Or just taking a break to fight a bird?” 

 

“Taking a break to fight a bird,” Adam replies, leaning back in against Ronan’s chest, “I’m gonna win, too.” 

 

“Wow,” Ronan drawls, “what a hard man you are, Parrish, beating up a one year old.” 

 

Adam laughs. Ronan’s glad to hear the laugh. 

 

-

 

Chainsaw doesn’t like the baby goats, so when he and Adam go down to say hello (and cuddle them), she yells her annoyance about it, and flies in the opposite direction. Feeding time has been and gone, so the farm hands aren’t around the babies at the moment, and Ronan feels perfectly happy about sitting down on a hay bale and pulling Adam onto his lap instead of onto the bale next to him. He trusted Lou and Steve, he’d known them long enough, but, he didn’t want to push it. 

 

Adam lets himself be pulled onto Ronan’s knee, lets himself be held for a moment, but then he’s up again. 

 

“Geez, Parrish,” Ronan calls, “can’t believe you wanna cuddle those bitey monsters and not me.” 

 

“You probably bite just as much as them,” Adam replies over his shoulder, “hey, no hooves in my face!” he adds to the goat climbing on his lap and attempting to climb onto his head. 

 

“Hey,” Ronan says after a few moments. Another of the goats is by his feet, nibbling alternatively at the hay and at his laces, “were you gonna tell me about… about what happened to your face?” 

 

Adam’s silent for a while, occupied with a goat, his back to Ronan. 

 

“Y’know how I said we should keep hickeys below collar level?” Adam says eventually, still facing the goat on his lap. 

 

Ronan grunts. He’d been very careful about keeping to that rule. Adam had never said it, but he knew it had caused an… incident before. He didn’t want that happening again. 

 

“I think - I - babe,” Adam says, removing the goat from his lap and shuffling around so he’s facing Ronan. The goat trots around him and gets back into his lap. “I need you to know that I don’t blame you at all. Ok?” 

 

“Adam,” Ronan says. He has more to say but he’s not sure what it is, and Adam doesn’t give him time to figure it out. 

 

“I had my shirt off in the garage when I was working on some of his shit the other night,” Adam says, shrugs, “it was hot. He came in and saw - saw the hickeys. It was completely my fault and -” 

 

“Adam,” Ronan says. Again, he has more to say, he knows what it is this time, but Adam still doesn’t give him time to say it. 

 

“He thinks I’m off screwing some girl. It’s like he’s - he’s caught between being like… fucking pleased I’m acting like a  _ guy _ , and pissed off because he’s certain I’ll get her pregnant. It’s like, you know what they say. A liar thinks everyone else is a liar. He got mum pregnant when he was a bit older than me so he thinks I’ll do the same.” 

 

Ronan grunts. 

 

“He wants to know who the chick is,” Adam mumbles, fends off the goat on his lap who wants to see what his chin tastes like, “and ‘cos I won’t tell him he’s like - I dunno what he even thinks. It’s hard to concentrate on what he’s saying when he’s - y’know.” 

 

“He’s such a fucking -” Ronan can’t finish his sentence because there’s too many ways to end it. 

 

He hates that Robert fucking Parrish is such a fucking presence that Adam doesn’t need to say his name at any point. Doesn’t need to say, ‘my dad’. They always know who ‘he’ is. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Ronan says. 

 

“I said it wasn’t your fault,” Adam replies sharply, “it isn’t -” 

 

“Piss off,” Ronan snorts, “can’t I just be sorry ‘cos you’re all fucked up?” 

 

“Sure,” Adam says. 

 

“You better not go knocking some chick up, by the way,” Ronan adds. 

 

“Oh piss off,” Adam says, rolling his eyes. He removes the goat from his lap again and stands up. “Is it,” he says, “ _ Ok _ if we just… don’t do hickeys anymore?” 

 

“Of course,” Ronan replies promptly, “dumbass.” 

 

“Piss off,” Adam says again. He steps towards Ronan and Ronan hooks his fingers through Adam’s belt loops to pull him closer still. “Thank you.” 

 

“Piss off,” Ronan repeats, “you could still give me hickeys, though.” 

 

“Yeah I could,” Adam grins, “I really could.” 

 

-

 

Ronan drives Adam to work, because it means Adam gets to be at the Barns for longer, and it means Ronan’s in town so he can go hang out with Gansey and Noah. This is routine as well. Also routine is their quick pit stop at Monmouth to kiss goodbye before Ronan drives the rest of the way to Boyd’s, because they can’t kiss outside Boyd’s but he still fucking wants to get to kiss his fucking boyfriend goodbye. He might not see him again for a few days. He needs to be able to say goodbye properly, and he sure as hell isn’t gonna do that with just a ‘bye’, and maybe a quick knee squeeze. 

 

When he gets back to Monmouth, Noah greets him at the door with a grin. 

 

“Your make out session was super hot today,” he says. 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says, thumps Noah good naturedly on the arm, and stalks across the room to drop himself heavily down on the back of Gansey’s desk chair. 

 

Noah follows him. 

 

“Hi Ronan,” Gansey says, not looking up from his computer. He’s writing a report or something. Something that requires him to be at his desk and not in an odd position on his bed. 

 

“I wasn’t actually watching,” Noah says, even though Ronan hadn’t asked. He perches on the edge of Gansey’s desk. “I just glanced out the window and saw love hearts.” 

 

“You’re such a little piss,” Ronan says, “anyone ever tell you that?” 

 

“Yeah,” Noah says, screws his face up as if thinking carefully, “I wonder - who was it - uh - oh yeah! You! Constantly!” 

 

“Wow,” Ronan deadpans, “it must be true then.” 

 

“You’re always so pissy after dropping Adam off,” Noah sighs, dramatic. He floats across the room and drops himself onto Gansey’s unmade bed. “You’re gonna see him tomorrow. You’re not a wife left behind during the war.” 

 

Ronan pokes his tongue out at Noah, then tugs at Gansey’s earlobe for attention. 

 

“What?” Gansey asks. 

 

“Adam needs a new job. Poppy’s is closing down.” 

 

“Oh!” Gansey says. He finally turns away from his report, shifts slightly in his chair so he can look at Ronan. “Oh dear! He can’t be happy about that.” 

 

“Understatement of the year,” Ronan says, “you know of any jobs going?” 

 

“Um,” Gansey says, “I don’t think so - hm. Well. A lot of political things in DC, but, well. Yeah that isn’t helpful, I know, thank you Ronan, no need to give me that look. Sorry. I’ll keep an eye out?” 

 

“Noah?” Ronan asks, “You know of anything?” 

 

“I’ve got a friend who needs a new dealer,” Noah says, “but, not really, no. I’ll keep an ear out. You should keep a mouth out. Blue could keep a nose out. We could make up a whole face.” 

 

“Wow,” Ronan snorts, “what the fuck, dude.” 

 

“Is his nose as bad as Blue says?” Gansey asks. He’s fiddling with his computer cord, “she said - she said it’s not crooked or anything, but she said it was bad.” 

 

“It’ll be ok,” Ronan grunts. 

 

“I wish he’d let you teach him to fight,” Gansey sighs. 

 

“You know that wouldn’t go down well,” Noah pipes up from the bed, “come on, Gansey man. Mansey gan. We all know that. What happens if he tries to fight back against his dad? He gets hit more. You ever read a book Mansey?” 

 

Gansey glances at the book piled apartment, then to Ronan. 

 

“Plus,” Ronan says, isn’t sure if he should be saying, but, “his dad has a gun.” 

 

“Oh shit,” Noah says, “shit. That’s newspaper material.” 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says. 

 

“If I teach him to fight,” Ronan says, “I could be fucking teaching him how to get himself fucking killed.” 

 

“This is cheerful,” Noah says, “can we talk about something else? I mean. Unless we’re actually gonna do something about the fucked up situation?” 

 

Ronan always wants to do something about the fucked up situation. 

 

“I have to write this report,” Gansey says, “it’s due Monday, I kept putting it off because it’s so boring.” 

 

“So boring I almost died of boredom hearing you just mention it,” Ronan says, “Noah, wanna make a ramp outside? We could try and make one to do jumps on in the BMW.” 

 

“That sounds like the actual worst idea,” Noah says, “let’s fucking do it, oh my God.” 

 

-

 

Saturday 10:12PM

-i wanna kiss you so bad rn

-ive been thinking about your moth all day

 

~My moth huh? 

 

-god youre a shit

 

~haha but im YOUR shit

 

-that just does not sound good. 

 

~tell me more about the kissing. That did sound good. 

 

-what else is there to say? i want to kiss you. 

 

~i bet you could think of smthing. 

 

-you know how sometimes when were kissing and you moan into my mouth?

-it makes me so hard

 

~oh. oh shit.

~yeah?

 

-yeah

-i just really like hearing you

-youre so sexy yknow

-i love kissing your neck too because you make so much noise

-you turn me on so much

 

~is this sexting?

 

-um

-it wasn’t meant to be

-it could be?

 

~god. um

~i kind of want it to be

 

-but you also kind of dont?

 

~it feels weird

~like the implications?

 

-the implications?

 

~that wed be jerking off, dude. 

 

-oh right.

 

~i mean god ok ive jerked off thinking about you a lot but its different if were doing it while talking to each other cos then its more like. real. and it feels weird to do that if we havnt done anhhthing real together before

 

-what!? all our making outs have been fake????

 

~dont be a dumbass

 

-i get it. 

-i do still wanna kiss you tho. 

-are we doing lunch tomorrow?

 

~yeah, you can make it?

 

-pretty sure

-im gonna kiss you then.

 

~in the restaurant??

 

-we could go to the bathroom at the same time

 

~romantic

 

-what can i say, im real white trash. i do dates in toilets. 

 

~hey i wasnt saying it was trashy 

~i am LOOKING FORWARD to kissing you in a bathroom

~i would kiss you anywhere

~in a dump

~in a funeral home

~back alleys

~you name it

 

-god i like you so much

 

~cheesy fucker

~xxxxxxxxx

~is th elight bulb working?

 

-yeah.t hanks babe

-i should sleep now

-see you tomorrow

-xxxxx

 

~gnight xxx

 

-

 

Before Adam, the usual after church lunch destination had been a quite hipster place near the outskirts of town, or, Poppy’s. After Niall’s death, though, it had felt strange almost to eat there regularly without him, and they’d been trying different cafes every week. Or, as many different cafes as you could in such a small town. They had them in a rotation. With Adam involved though, they went consistently to a small place right smack bang between St Agnes and Boyd’s. Today Ronan likes it because he knows the bathroom is rather clean. 

 

They had, ridiculously obviously followed each other to the bathroom almost as soon as they’d placed their lunch orders, and, though the bathroom was empty, locked themselves into a stall together. Aurora had given him a look when he’d gotten up barely five seconds after Adam had excused himself, but said nothing. 

 

“Do I really moan sometimes when we’re kissing?” Ronan whispers, and Adam snorts, wraps his fingers around the collar of Ronan’s jacket and tugs him a bit closer. 

 

“You’re the one moaning, I would’a thought you’d’ve noticed,” he says, presses a firm kiss to Ronan’s mouth. 

 

“Not paying much attention to myself when we’re kissing,” Ronan mumbles, kisses him back. 

 

“You do,” Adam confirms, “not often, don’t get all self conscious.” 

 

They kiss a moment more, than stand in quietness together while someone else comes in, takes a very loud piss, doesn’t wash his hands, and leaves again. 

 

“Gross,” Adam says, then, “I’ve got good news.” 

 

“Yeah?” Ronan says, reaches around Adam to put his hands into the back pockets of Adam’s jeans, “Go on, then.” 

 

“I talked to Boyd today,” Adam says, pauses to kiss Ronan’s cheek, keeps talking, “mentioned I’d have some more time. He offered to make up the hours I’d lose from Poppy’s. As well as a couple more.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says, “babe, that’s great!” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam smiles up at him, “now I can actually tell my parents, ha. Thanks for calming me down about it the other night. I overreacted, I know.” 

 

“You’re fine,” Ronan says, “I reckon we have about three more minutes before mum sends Matthew in to get us, by the way.” 

 

“Ah,” Adam says, “better make use of those three minutes then.” 

 

-

 

Aurora smiles at them, eyebrows raised, when they rejoin her and Matthew at the table. Their food is arrived and Matthew has already dug in to his burger, though Aurora’s not touched her pot pie yet. 

 

“Do you boys need more fiber in your diets?” She asks cheerfully, “Maybe we should have gotten you some nice salads instead?” 

 

“Sorry,” Adam says, not sounding very sorry at all, “um. Oh - Matty, I read this really cool science article the other day, thought about you. It was -” 

 

-

 

“Ro,” Matthew says, much later that night. 

 

Matthew is supposed to be in bed, he has school in the morning and it’s well known he’s rubbish when he doesn’t get enough sleep. Right now though, he’s curled around the edge of Ronan’s door, tousled honey curls catching the light from Ronan’s bedside lamp. 

 

“Matty?” Ronan says. He puts his electric guitar aside, pulls his earphones out. “What’s up? Bad dreams?” 

 

Matthew doesn’t need any more of an invitation than this. He squirrels himself around the door, shuts it behind him, and crosses the room in one bound before climbing onto the bed and crawling up against Ronan’s side to lean against his shoulder. 

 

“Hey,” Ronan mumbles, shifting his guitar again to give the two of them more room. “That bad, huh?” 

 

“I wasn’t,” Matthew mumbles back, rests his head on Ronan’s shoulder. “I wasn’t having bad dreams. Or, not asleep dreams.” 

 

“Ok?” Ronan asks. 

 

“I was just thinking about Adam,” Matthew says. 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says. Matthew doesn’t say anything in reply, so Ronan says; “What’ve you been thinking about, bud?” 

 

“I heard you and him with the goats the other day,” Matthew says. He says it very quietly, obviously guilty about overhearing. “I didn’t mean to,” he adds quickly, “I thought maybe I left my sunglasses in there with them.” 

 

“What’d you hear?” Ronan asks. 

 

“Just that,” Matthew mumbles, “um. He didn’t wrestle a pig.” 

 

It takes Ronan a few moments to remember the story Adam had told Matthew the other day, and then he snorts. 

 

“You didn’t actually think he had wrestled a pig, Matty.” 

 

“Well no,” Matthew protests, “but I - am I the last one to put it together?” 

 

“Put what together?” Ronan says, trying to keep it maybe a little bit light, “That Adam doesn’t wrestle pigs?” 

 

“That his dad hurts him,” Matthew says, voice very, very small. 

 

Ronan screws his eyes shut, because, well, they don’t say it. They just don’t. And now Ronan knows why they don’t say it, because it’s so scary said out loud. It’s so painful said out loud. 

 

“It’s not a nice thing to put together,” Ronan says. 

 

“He should move in with us,” Matthew replies, “why doesn’t he? Mum would say yes. I know she would. If you ask her, she’d say yes.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan sighs, “but Adam wouldn’t.” 

 

“Why not?” Matthew demands, sounding a little tearful, “Why not? It’d be a perfect solution.” 

 

“He just won’t,” Ronan says, because how is he supposed to explain Adam’s stubbornness, and need to save himself, need to not take any more help than he can get away with, when Ronan doesn’t fully understand it himself? He gets it in theory, but there’s no way he can put it into words for someone else. 

 

Matthew sniffs loudly, tugs at Ronan’s sleeve to wipe his face on it. “Can I sleep here, tonight?” Matthew asks. 

 

“You can’t sleep in your own bed?” Ronan grunts. 

 

“I keep thinking about his dad!” Matthew says, wiping his face on Ronan’s shirt again, “I don’t know what he looks like and my brain keeps making him into monsters and then it’s like he could be in my wardrobe!” 

 

“God,” Ronan groans. “Fine. Sheesh.” 

 

“Thanks,” Matthew says, promptly wriggling further down the bed, “are you gonna sleep now?” 

 

“I guess I have to,” Ronan says. 

 

-

 

Sunday 11:19PM

-i love the new playlist x

 

~told you xxx

~im sleeping now. Mattys having fits about his room being scary or some shit so ive gotta go to sleep too or hell grump at me. 

 

-hahaha. goodnight x

 

~xxx

 

-

 

On Wednesday, Ronan’s already in town with his mother when Adam texts to say he’ll be at Monmouth a bit later than usual. That’s fine. Aurora was doing some shopping for garden supplies, and the shop always took forever, because she’d get distracted by the plants, and then want to talk to the shop attendants about the wood stains, etc, etc. He had been going to help her out until three, and then head over to Mountain View to pick Adam up, but this meant he’d just stay with his mum until she’d finished shopping, and then he’d go to Monmouth to wait for Adam. 

 

“Good,” Aurora says, when Ronan relays the news to her, “the poor attendants here always look so tired when they see how much I’m buying. You’ll get to carry my mulch bags.” 

 

“Joy,” Ronan replies, but happily allows Aurora to link their arms together and drag him straight to the rose section. 

 

It isn’t until they’re looking at wood - Aurora wanted to make a new fancy little bird house for the front porch - that Ronan hears it. He doesn’t realise why his ears are picking it up at first. It’s just some angry local lady, probably pissed of at an attendant for plants having dirt on them or something, but then the noise comes a bit closer and Ronan realises he’s paying attention because she’s saying Adam’s name. 

 

He’s about to say something, though he doesn’t know what sort of something, when Adam himself rounds the corner on the aisle, headed straight towards them where they’re standing between sanded wood and hinges. 

 

“Adam!” Aurora says, calmly cheerful, “Hi honey, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” 

 

Adam pauses, dead still in the aisle, his face wary even as he smiles tightly at Aurora. Ronan can all but feel the waves of anxiety coming off of him. 

 

“Afternoon, ma’am,” he replies quietly, “wasn’t expectin’ t’see y’all neither.” 

 

“Running errands?” Aurora asks. 

 

Adam’s managed to move his feet again. He crosses the distance between them to the hinges and reaches up to them, nods once, twice, glances at Ronan. Ronan has no idea what the protocol for their relationship is when Adam’s  _ mother _ is so nearby. 

 

“What’re y’all gettin’?” Adam asks, voice low. 

 

“Just garden stuff,” Ronan replies in a mumble. He’s actually so terrified that Adam’s mother is going to round the corner. Why, he’s not sure. There’s nothing terrible for her to see here. 

 

“Adam!” Adam jerks at the sound of his mother’s voice, glances up at Aurora, whose eyes are narrowed, and then opens his mouth, ostensibly to say goodbye, but then, his mother does come around the corner. “Adam,” she repeats, “what the hell is takin’ you so long? I told you I need’a get these done before your dad gets home.” 

 

“Sorry,” Adam says, “I’ve the hinges.” 

 

His mother isn’t listening. She’s looking at Aurora instead. Ronan isn’t sure if it’s simply because Adam had been standing so close to them, or if it’s because Aurora was looking at her first. Either way. Adam’s mother waves a hand between Adam and Aurora and says, “Y’all know each other?” 

 

Adam clears his throat, straightens his shoulders. “Mum,” he says, “this is my friend. The one I stay out with on late shifts at Poppy’s. This is his ma. Aurora.” 

 

It’s a tidy little explanation. It doesn’t seem to satisfy his mother, though. Maybe Aurora notices this, because she steps forward with a smile. 

 

“Good to meet you,” Aurora says, “it’s always been such a pleasure having Adam ‘round, Mrs Parrish.” 

 

“Just Alice,” Adam’s mother says, quite stiff, “he always does put his airs and graces on ‘round other people. Don’t you, boy?” Alice addresses Adam past Aurora. 

 

Adam shrugs a little, picks his way carefully back to his mother, keeps his gaze lowered. 

 

“Don’t matter now, though,” Alice adds, eyes on her son, “you won’t need’a put up with him, he’s gone and lost that job, hasn’t he?” 

 

Adam doesn’t say anything to correct her about Poppy’s closing down. Ronan opens his mouth to, but Aurora gets there first. 

 

“Ah yes,” she says pleasantly, solidly, “I heard Poppy’s was closing down. Such a pity, the service there was always so lovely. I talked to Poppy about it the other day, actually, she said she was just getting too old to keep it going and wanted to spend more time with her grandchildren. She said she was very sorry for having to let Adam go.” 

 

Alice’s expression doesn’t change so much as tighten. Adam’s shoulders are further hunched. 

 

“Let go’s the same as lost,” Alice replies, “your boy don’t go to Mountain View, does he?” 

 

“I don’t go to school,” Ronan blurts out. He doesn’t want to risk the fact that they’re an Aglionby family slipping out, even if he thinks his mother’s smart enough to keep that quiet, “I dropped out. I work on a farm.” 

 

“Huh,” Alice says, looks at Adam again, “hear that? He knows your precious education aint as precious as a good income.’ 

 

“Yes ma’am,” Adam says, then, “we just need the screws.” 

 

“I know,” Alice snaps, “go get ‘em, then.” 

 

Adam nods, turns around, and disappears without a glance back at either Aurora or Ronan. Alice stays standing where she is for a moment longer. 

 

“Don’t bother gettin’ too close to him,” she says eventually, “he don’t know what loyalty is.” 

 

-

 

Wednesday 3:42PM

-im so sorry. im really sorry. tell your mum im sorry. 

 

~youve got nothing to be sorry for you idiot

 

-i am sorry though

 

~are you still coming to monmouth?

 

-yeah. im about to leave

 

~well we can talk about it more when you get here. ok?

 

-ok. 

 

-

 

Gansey is in the bathroom when Adam arrives, and Noah is in the middle of an online game, so it’s just the two of them at first. 

 

“Look,” Adam says in greeting, stepping into the room, hands rubbing up and down his arms as if he’s trying to scrub his anxiety off of his skin, “I know you say I have nothing to be sorry for, but I do. I couldn’t even properly acknowledge you as my  _ friend _ , let alone my boyfriend. I was rude to your mum by barely responding to her. I didn’t know how to react to the situation and it was awkward for all of us, so I’m sorry for putting us in that situation. Ok?” 

 

It’s obvious he’s been working on the wording the entire bike ride over. Ronan lets the words settle in his stomach, and then he nods, reaches for Adam. Adam lets him tug them together, stumbling a little as Ronan bumps their foreheads together. 

 

“That was such a fucking weird experience,” Ronan mumbles, “I accept your… uh. Your dumbass apology. But you need to fucking accept that I don’t, and will not blame you for it.” 

 

“Whatever,” Adam sighs, presses his forehead hard against Ronan’s, then drops his head down to lean against his shoulder instead. “Thank God mum had to go to work after that, else I’d never have gotten away to come see you.” 

 

“You think she’s gonna ask questions about it?” Ronan mumbles. 

 

“I dunno,” Adam sighs, tips his head up to kiss just under Ronan’s jaw, “she might. She was pissed off. It’s not like I’m just gonna tell her we’re together, though, so, there’s nothing really there for her to properly object to.” 

 

“I hate this so much,” Ronan says, voice low. 

 

Adam kisses his jaw bone, says; “We get through this year and then I’ll be away from them. Ok?” 

 

“Away from me too,” Ronan mumbles. 

 

Adam sighs against his skin. “Away from here,” he agrees, “doesn’t have to mean away from  you.” 

 

“Mm,” Ronan says. 

 

“Oh, Adam!” Gansey says, closing the bathroom door behind him. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in, I was watching youtube.” 

 

“He watches vine compilations while he poops,” Ronan says. 

 

-

 

Ronan spends all of Thursday out in a far field with Lou, helping fix a fence. He prefers working with animals and greenery, but he actually loves this part of farm work. Fixing things. That’s what he wants to be good at. Creating new things and fixing old things. If school taught that properly, maybe he would want to go. 

 

Gansey calls that evening wanting a Latin translation, which Ronan begrudgingly provides. 

 

“You could’ve just used google translate,” he grumbles into the phone. Not his cellphone, because he tries to avoid answering his phone, but the actual physical fucking landline because Gansey knows him well enough to know how to play him, and that is by calling the house, and then getting Matthew or Aurora to put him on the phone. “Would’ve been quicker.” 

 

“Translations feels so much nicer when you get them from a real person,” Gansey replies easily, voice crackly over the line, “plus it’s a good vocab work out for you. You don’t wanna lose all your hard work on learning Latin by never using it.” 

 

“I’ll never need it outside of Aglionby,” Ronan replies tightly, “so who gives a fuck?” 

 

“I dunno,” Gansey says, “maybe you could discover one day that cows love being talked to in Latin? Or maybe you’ll start writing songs again and have bits in Latin just to be hipster or something.” 

 

Ronan’s silent for a few moments. The phone is an old one, the kind with a curly cord, and he winds it around his fingers. He can hear Gansey breathing on the other end of the phone, the faint noise of an ink pen scritching against thick paper. 

 

“I’m writing again,” Ronan mumbles, quietly. No one is in the room with him, but he doesn’t want to be overheard anyway. “A little. Not much. But a bit.” 

 

“Oh?” Gansey says, “Oh! Hey! That’s so cool, what kind of stuff have you been writing?” 

 

“Just,” Ronan whispers, clears his throat, “just shit. Y’know. I haven’t played anything properly for ages. Or sung. So like. I dunno, man. I just want to again.” 

 

“Is it stuff for Adam?” Gansey asks, voice almost sweet. 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan grumbles, clears his throat again. “Nah. I mean. No. Some of it is maybe like, relevant to him, but no.” 

 

“Can I read them?” 

 

“None of it is good, Gans,” Ronan says, “they’re all rubbish. It’s all just like - just like fucked up shit to a bad melody.” 

 

“Can I read them?” 

 

“Maybe,” Ronan sighs, “how long would you and Noah tease me if I did write a song for Adam?” 

 

“A couple of weeks, maybe,” Gansey says nonchalantly, “give or take a few years.” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “that’s what I thought.” 

 

“I’ve missed your music,” Gansey says then, “I’ve missed you just bringing out your guitar, or your bass and just playing.” 

 

“I don’t think I’m doing that again, often at least, not yet,” Ronan says, “but maybe I should bring my acoustic to Monmouth. Really complete your bedraggled artist student look?” 

 

“I’d like that.” 

 

-

 

10:22PM

-todays been really shitty. looking forward to seeing you tomorrow so much. 

-no i dont have any new bruises its ok x

 

~can you blame me for wondering?

~looking forward to seeing you too. 

 

-im so fucking exhausted so im gonna sleep now but ill text you more tomorrow

 

~goodnight shit head x

 

-x

 

-

 

Friday morning finds Ronan on the floor in his bedroom, bass in his lap. He hasn’t played his bass really at all since the doctors had cleared him to do shit with his hands. He’d picked his bass up. That’s as far as he’d gotten until now. It was stupid, maybe, that he felt ok playing just like… his acoustic guitar, but when it came to his bass, he felt almost like it was just too much of his past life. He didn’t want it to be his past life. He fucking loved playing bass. It was just hard getting past the block in his head even as his fingers remembered what to do and did it. 

 

He had a rhythm and a melody in his head that he wanted to get out and into the air, and it wasn’t working quite right on his acoustic, or his electric, and he didn’t want to  _ sing  _ because that was another kettle of fish entirely. Maybe he should fucking play it on his fucking bagpipes. That’d teach them. Whoever them was. Whatever it was he was trying to teach. 

 

He gets it out. It sounds good. His fingers hurt a bit. He’s lost a lot of his specifically built up calluses over the months and months of not playing. He keeps playing anyway. He’s missed the feel of it in his arms, which, maybe is a weird thing to have missed? But he missed it. 

 

-

 

Friday 3:03PM

-god i hate my science teacher. 

-or like. he hates me. 

 

~why???

~but i mean. i also hate your science teacher because you hate them so, fuck them!!!

 

-he went to school with my dad ha

-so obviously he doesn’t like me

-because i remind him of him

 

~that’s fucked up

~not least because you’re not him????

~like that’s some fucking snape bullshittery right there yknow

~but also fucked up because you are fucking nothing like your fathe

~r

 

-snape bullshittery?

 

~you know

~from harry potter

~how he like, fucking like shitted on harrys life whenever he could becos he didn’t like harrys dad and shit 

 

-who the fuck are we talking about????

 

~adam

~adam what the fuck

~you’re pulling my leg

~tell me youre pulling my fucking leg

 

-???

 

~oh my god how did you miss like a cultural phenomon so fucking big as harry potter wtf

 

-im kidding 

-god you drama queen

-never read them or anything

-but obvs i know what youre talking about

 

~you suck

 

-you like me anyway

 

~yeah

~so fucking much

 

-

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Aurora says, handing Ronan a sudsy dish to dry. 

 

“Good to know you practice what you preach,” Ronan replies, taking the dish. 

 

Aurora flicks water and bubbles at him. “You and your smart mouth,” she snorts, “hush up and listen to your mama will you?” 

 

Ronan hushes up. 

 

“How are you feeling about driving currently?” Aurora asks. 

 

“What d’you mean?” Ronan asks, reasonably certain he’s aware of what Aurora means. 

 

She gives him her look which means she knows that he knows what she means. She says it anyway. “I mean, if I tell you that you can drive past ten again, do you think that would end badly?” 

 

Ronan doesn’t really need to think about it. He takes a few moments of silence anyway, because Aurora gives it to him, along with a couple of plates. 

 

“I’m not gonna go racing,” Ronan mumbles, “like. I mean. Like. No. I’m not going to race. I know I’m not going to race.” 

 

“Mhm,” Aurora says, hands him a serving bowl. 

 

“If you tell me what it is you’re fu- worried I might do, then I could tell you if I’m worried about it or not,” Ronan grumbles. 

 

Aurora shakes her head a little. “I’m worried you might have lost some confidence in your driving,” she says. 

 

“That’s dumb,” Ronan mumbles, “it wasn’t me driving.” 

 

“Don’t be rude,” Aurora says, not meanly, “I know it wasn’t. I meant because I know how… scared it made you. If you’ve not been driving so late for so long, you might not feel comfortable with it anymore.”

 

“I feel fine about it,” Ronan says. 

 

“It’s ok if you don’t feel fine about it,” Aurora tells him. 

 

Ronan reconsiders, though her saying this doesn’t technically change anything. 

 

“Maybe,” he mumbles, “maybe I feel like - like what if - what if I just - you know. Night time is shitty. What if I just have a shit moment and like. Yeah.” 

 

“Yeah,” Aurora says, though Ronan is reasonably certain he wasn’t exactly coherent there at all. “I understand, baby. Ok. How about this,” she hands him the salad bowl. “I’m lifting the ban, but only for short trips. Ok? You can drive to get Adam from Poppy’s, or even from town. I don’t want you driving to town and then back here alone yet though, does that sound fair?” 

 

“Sounds like I’m pretty fucking weird, but yeah, sounds fair.” Ronan says. 

 

Aurora presses her damp palm to his cheek, rubs her thumb against his cheekbone. “You’re doing so well, darling,” she says, “and I’m so proud of you.”

 

Ronan swallows hard, ducks his head down a little so he can press his face more into his mother’s hand, closes his eyes. 

 

“I’m so proud of you,” she repeats, “I’m so proud of all the healing you’re doing.” 

 

“Ma,” he mumbles, voice embarrassingly raw, “don’t make me cry into the sink.” 

 

“Direct your tears elsewhere, then,” she says, very gentle, “I’m not trying to make you cry, love.” 

 

“I know,” Ronan says. He has to put the salad bowl down now because Aurora is wrapping her arms carefully around him, her hands making damp patches on the back of his shirt. 

 

“I love you very much,” Aurora says, clearly. 

 

“I know,” Ronan mumbles again. 

 

“I know you know,” Aurora says, “but I’m your mama. It’s my job to tell you. It’s my job to let you know how much you’re loved.” 

 

Ronan wraps his own arms tightly around his mother’s waist, presses his face in against her hair. Exhales heavily. He’s not crying, he’s just… breathing. 

 

“I don’t think,” Ronan begins quietly, “I don’t think Adam’s ever had that.” 

 

Aurora shakes her head against his. “No,” she agrees, “I don’t think he ever has.” 

 

“I hate that so much,” Ronan whispers, “I hate his parents so  _ much _ . How can they - how can - I hate them.” 

 

“I know,” Aurora says, “he’s so strong. To be so functioning even through everything he’s going through.” 

 

“Ma,” Ronan mumbles. 

 

“Baby?” 

 

“I love him,” Ronan says, half hopes his words are lost in her hair. 

 

Aurora is quiet for a short while, then she says, “I know. You gonna tell him?” 

 

“I want to,” Ronan says. 

 

“Do you need him to be able to say it back immediately?” Aurora asks, “Because he might not be able to yet.” 

 

“I -” Ronan hesitates, “I think I’ll live.” 

 

“I think you’ll live too,” Aurora says

 

-

 

Adam’s not at the counter when Ronan arrives at Poppy’s at ten to eleven, but he ducks out from the kitchen as Ronan closes the door. 

 

“Ronan,” he says, sounding more surprised than Ronan had expected, “what - are you ok? What’s going on?” 

 

“What?” Ronan says, then, “No. Everything’s fine, babe, I just - it’s ok, mum said I could.” 

 

Adam still looks almost worried, but he nods and leans against the counter. “You here to pick me up, huh?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, crossing the room to Adam, glancing around at the empty room, glancing over Adam’s shoulder to check they weren’t being watched, and then ducking forwards to kiss Adam hello quickly. “Mum and I chatted tonight, she’s ok with me driving late again. So long as it’s not, like, long trips. So. I can come pick you up and stuff.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, glances over his shoulder and leans in to kiss Ronan quickly again, “I guess I’ll start shutting up, then, no one else ought to come in this late.” 

 

-

 

They’re back at the Barns at barely past eleven, and objectively Ronan knows it’s not a huge amount of more time but it feels like a gift, those forty extra minutes of being around Adam. God. He’s a huge sop. 

 

Adam eats dinner, Ronan rinses his plates while Adam goes upstairs to shower, Ronan decides that even if he’s been gifted forty more minutes of Adam he shouldn’t waste them, so he follows him upstairs and knocks on the bathroom door. The shower isn’t running yet, and Adam opens it after a few seconds. 

 

“Hey?” Adam says. 

 

“Can I come in?” Ronan asks. 

 

“Uh,” Adam says. He’s standing behind the door, hiding his body behind it, obviously already naked. “Uh, yeah? Gimme a minute, let me grab the towel.” 

 

Ronan waits for a moment, and then Adam opens the door to let him in, towel wrapped tightly around his waist. 

 

“What’s up?” Adam asks, closing the door again behind Ronan. 

 

Ronan shrugs, vaguely unwilling to admit that actually he just wanted to see Adam again because it’d been two whole days and also because Adam mostly naked was extremely attractive. Adam narrows his eyes at him, and then shrugs as well, and locks the door. 

 

“If you’re gonna stay,” he says, crossing over to the shower and turning it on, “tell me about your day?” 

 

Ronan turns his head away as Adam undoes the towel, continues to stare at the opposite wall until he hears the rustling of the shower curtain rungs dragging closed. 

 

“Didn’t do much,” he says, speaking loudly to be heard over the water, “helped mum in her flower garden for a bit, then I… played some bass, then I helped Steve out with repairing a barn out front, then like, dinner, chatted with mum. Then you.” 

 

“Sounds good,” Adam says, then, “you played some bass?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says. He pushes himself up on the bathroom counter, slides himself backwards until his back is to the wall, and rests his feet on the edge of the counter. Declan would have a fit if he saw him now. 

 

“You haven’t played it much recently, have you?” Adam asks. 

 

“No,” Ronan says. 

 

Adam pokes his head out from behind the curtain, his hair sticking in wet curls to his forehead, one eye squinted shut to stop water from dripping into it. He looks Ronan over contemplatively, and Ronan looks back, chin stuck out. 

 

“That’s cool,” Adam says eventually offers Ronan a grin, then pulls himself back behind the curtain. 

 

Ronan picks at a rip in his jeans, considers all the worse ways he could say this and how really this is a reasonably good way to say it, and then says; “Hey. Adam?” 

 

“Yeah?” Adam says. 

 

“I love you.” Ronan says. He makes sure not to mumble it because he’s not sure he has the balls at this particular moment to be able to repeat it if necessary. 

 

Adam doesn’t respond immediately. The noises from the shower sounds like he’s still just… washing or something. Ronan has to wonder if maybe he still didn’t say it loud enough, if Adam is waiting for him to say something, or if Adam is hoping that if he ignores it it’ll go away, or if he’s thinking about how to turn Ronan down gently because yeah it was one thing to be  _ dating _ Ronan but another thing entirely for the kind of commitment Ronan means when he says those stupid fucking three words. 

 

The shower curtain rattles along its rail again as Adam pushes it back. Ronan looks up at him, sees entirely too much naked body, and looks down at his own lap instead. He’s not sure if he has permission to look, so he won’t, even if his own lap thinks maybe he should. 

 

“Say that again?” Adam asks, voice an odd mixture of serious curiousity. 

 

Ronan swallows dryly, shrugs one shoulder, keeps his gaze on his hands which are picking at the leather bands around his wrists. “I love you?” he tries. 

 

Adam turns the shower off. Ronan swallows again. 

 

“Will you look at me?” Adam asks then, voice clearer when not surrounded by water. He’s still standing in the shower, still entirely naked, possibly a little soapy. “Please?” 

 

Ronan looks up at him, dripping with water, and far too fucking naked for Ronan to be able to look at without actually blushing like an idiot. He avoids looking at Adam’s dick, which is a difficult feat, because he’s been thinking about it for a while now. He looks at the muscles in his legs instead, at the faint discolourations of his skin where he was scarred, or bruised, and the trail of hair leading down from his belly button to his - he looks up at Adam’s face instead because that was safer. 

 

“You… love me… despite this?” Adam asks when Ronan’s eyes finally meet his. He waves one disparaging hand at his body, “Are you… sure?” 

 

Ronan frowns, because this is one of the stupidest things Adam has ever said to him (the stupidest being every single time Adam tried to say he wasn’t hungry). He pushes himself off from the wall, and then off from the counter, and steps (possibly stalks) over to the shower. He lays his hand out against Adam’s chest, fingers splayed. He can impossibly feel Adam’s heart beating under his palm, wild and loud, a stark contrast to Adam’s calm face, his steady voice. 

 

“There is no fucking  _ despite, _ ” Ronan says, “I don’t love you despite anything. I just love you. And yes, I’m fucking sure, God, Parrish.” 

 

Adam’s eyes are closed and Ronan can’t remember him closing them even though he was watching Adam’s face. His chest rises and falls harshly under Ronan’s hand. 

 

“I don’t expect you to say it back,” Ronan says then, because he’d taken his mother’s words seriously, and he needed to make sure that Adam knew this declaration wasn’t actually a demand. “You don’t have to say shit all if you don’t wanna. I just wanted you to  _ know _ .” 

 

“Of course I love you,” Adam groans, “God.  _ God _ . Of course I do.” His eyes are open again, surprisingly bright, surprisingly wet, “I thought it was too early to  _ say _ it.” 

 

“Well if we both do, then obviously it isn’t,” Ronan says gruffly. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says simply, leans hard against Ronan’s hand still on him, then pushes further forward until they’re chest to chest, wet spot blooming in Ronan’s shirt, and kisses him hard. 

 

Ronan kisses back, wrapping his arms around Adam’s wet back. This is probably not the best place for kissing, or the best conditions for it, but also not kissing right now feels like the actual worst idea out there. 

 

“I’m getting you super wet,” Adam mumbles after a few moments, only pull apart enough to say this not straight into Ronan’s mouth. 

 

“Something something easy innuendo,” Ronan mumbles back, tipping his face against Adam’s, pressing a hard kiss to the line of his jaw. 

 

“Dumbass,” Adam pants, “let me get dry?” 

 

“Mm,” Ronan agrees, keeps kissing his jaw, “and you should put pants on.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, tilts his head to the side to expose more of his neck. 

 

He tastes like soap. 

 

There’s a knock on the door then that makes Adam jump in his arms, and then Matthew says; “Guys? I need’a piss.” 

  
  


-

  
  


It’s very difficult to act like normal immediately following this, because, sure, Ronan had been reasonably certain he was in love for a few weeks now, but having said it, and having had Adam say it back - well. He felt like they were supposed to act differently. Like they’d leveled up in their relationship. He definitely didn’t want Adam to get back out of his bed at around one thirty to get into his own bed. He clutches at Adam’s arm even as Adam crawls under his own blanket, stopping Adam from lying down. Instead, Adam leans against the side of Ronan’s mattress, looks up at him. 

 

“Hey,” he says, “y’know I’m not gonna just like, change my mind about how I feel jus’ because we’re gonna be in separate beds?” 

 

“Don’t be dumb,” Ronan whispers back, “of course I fucking know that.” 

 

“So what’s with this?” Adam asks, nods down at Ronan’s hand on him. 

 

Ronan shrugs a little. “I like touching you,” he replies awkwardly, “is that so bad?” 

 

“No,” Adam says, “but I can’t sleep like this.” 

 

“You could if you were up here with me,” Ronan replies, clears his throat a little. He doesn’t look at Adam because he knows what Adam’s face will be doing. 

 

“Babe,” Adam says, his voice echoing what his face probably looks like, “I would. Y’know that. But I’m not gonna keep goin’ against what your mum’s  _ asked _ us not to do.” 

 

“Mhm,” Ronan says. 

 

“An’,” Adam adds on, “I know you, you dipshit, you’d get so freakin’ guilty about it.” 

 

“Shut up,” Ronan grumbles, “maybe. So what.” 

 

“So,” Adam says, “bend the fuck down here, give me a kiss, and then let’s go to sleep without breaking anymore rules, ok?” 

 

Ronan grumbles a little again, mostly to himself, but concedes. He leans over the side of the bed, meets Adam’s face for a not exactly quick kiss, and then lets Adam peels his fingers off of his arm. 

 

He wants so badly to reach out again, to touch Adam’s face, to tell him again that he loved him, but. Also. He didn’t want to be too overwhelming all at once. So instead he just lies there, on the edge of his mattress, and watches Adam fall quickly asleep. 

  
  


-

  
  


Sunday 7:21AM

-im not gonna be able to do lunch today babe, my hours are a bit different with my extra hours at boyds. Sorry xxxx

 

~:(

~thats ok xxx gives us more time to talk smack about you ;) 

 

-dickhead

 

~i could swing by after and drop you off that smoothie you like?

 

-thats ok :) im gonna be really busy

-ill still see you on wednesday tho!!

 

~god weds is so far away

 

-not too far

-im gonna make sure i dont have any hw to do so ill get to spend the whole time paying attention to you ok?

 

~i have this in writing now so theres no backing out!

 

-i dont wanna back out!!

  
  


-

  
  


Practically, nothing has really changed, Ronan knows this. Still. Sitting next to Adam on the couch at Monmouth on Wednesday (while they play some complicated board game Noah insists they play with him), he feels like everything ought to be different now. 

 

This is completely illogical, he knows, because the thing he feels the most ought to be different, was that because they  _ loved _ each other, the world ought to completely realign so that they got to see each other all the time. So that their issues just poofed out of existence. That’s what happened in movies. The protagonists confessed their undying love, and then everything was suddenly fixed, like, dream jobs appeared, bad friends/family were cut out, wars stopped, blah, blah. Surely it wasn’t too much to ask just for more time. It’s something he has spent a lot of time thinking about in church - specifically in church because he feels like maybe he’s allowed to ask for things in there, because maybe he’s being listened to by someone who wants to give him things. He hasn’t said anything about it in confession because he doesn’t think it’s something he’s supposed to feel guilty about. 

 

Maybe he feels a bit guilty about it anyway. But only because. Only because he feels selfish. For what he thinks ought to be happening now. Shouldn’t he be asking Adam first? What Adam thinks ought to be happening? What Adam thinks being in love with each other means? 

 

It hadn’t really been a topic of conversation right after they’d said it, because they had other very pressing matters to attend to - such as making out until Ronan had yawned once too often into Adam’s mouth. And it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about via text, because texting was already just  _ ugh _ there was no way he was doing something so personal over it, it had to be face to face, yet - yet. He couldn’t do it right now because they were with Gansey and Noah, and he couldn’t do it in the short moments they were alone together in his car because those moments were for quick snatches of touching and breathed affirmations of affection and - not for difficult things. Which was stupid, because, was it really a difficult thing? Ronan doesn’t know. He’s not sure he understands his own brain half the time. 

 

Either way. It was a thing to talk about on Friday night, maybe, when they had more time together, by themselves. 

 

-

 

Thursday he spends half of shifting cows with his mother and Lou while thinking only about the music he wanted to go to his room to ty and produce, and the other half lying on his floor not being able to make the music fucking work. 

 

-

 

Thursday 6:29PM 

-hows your day been? 

 

~pissing me off

 

-your day or me?

 

~my day obvs

 

-how come? 

 

~cant concentrate on shit

 

-what shit? 

 

~just music shit. what you up to

~?

 

-just doing chores at home

-boring stuff. 

-how come you cant concentrate?

 

~god idk, genetics? dumbassery? 

 

-lol ok

-youre ok then?

 

~ye

 

-you are ok, yeah?

-you can say if youre not

 

~i just fucking said i was

~why?

~is this you being like over insisten because youre not ok?

~this is a distraction isnt it

~what happened?

 

-god youre so suspsicious sometimes man

 

~but am i right?

 

-its not much ok? 

-i promise.

-i just wanted to give you a warning, yknow, so i dont just show up tomorrow and thats all youw anna talka bout

 

~what happened

 

-nothing.

-he was drunk. thats all ok? im fine, it looks worse than it is. youre the only one whos gonna know anyway cos its hidden by my shirt so just. its fine. 

 

~i wish youd stop fucking downplaying this shit

~it isnt fucking fine

~even if its fucking better than it looks

 

-you think i dont know that??

 

~yeah actually. i think you dont know that

 

-god youre such a fucking asshole right now

 

~im not saying you dont know im just saying you dont KNOW

 

-that makes no fucking sense

-i dont want to talk about this

 

~i do

 

-well then talk about it to your mum then becos im done with it 

-ill talk to you later

 

-

 

“What’re you doing?” Matthew asks from the ground, squinting up at Ronan. 

 

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Ronan snaps back, regrets snapping, doesn’t regret it enough to follow it up with an apology. 

 

“Um,” Matthew says, “it looks like you climbed onto the shed roof specifically so you could pick acorns from the tree to throw at the ground?” 

 

“Then that’s what I’m doing,” Ronan says, grunting as he throws another acorn. It’s not extremely satisfying, but he doesn’t know what other satisfying thing he could do right now that wouldn’t end up with him getting into trouble. 

 

“Why?” Matthew asks. 

 

Ronan throws another acorn. 

 

“Can I join in?” Matthew asks. 

 

“If you can get up here,” Ronan retorts. This is, of course, a yes, because obviously Matthew can get onto the roof. They’d done it together many times. 

 

Matthew climbs up onto the roof, slides himself carefully over to where Ronan is, and sits behind him, reaching into the leaves and twigs of the tree resting against the roof of the barn to grab a handful of acorns for himself. 

 

They hurl their projectiles in silence for a while, silently agreeing on attempting to get the acorns into a bucket near the fence. After Ronan’s gotten about twenty in, and Matthew’s gotten about four in, Matthew finally speaks again. 

 

“Mum was worried about you being up here by yourself,” he says, says it almost absent mindedly. 

 

Ronan groans. Matthew looks at him. Not a sideways look, Matthew has never been one for sideways looks, he just looks at Ronan straight on, earnest. 

 

“She doesn’t need to be worried though, right?” Matthew asks. 

 

“I’m not gonna do anything dumb,” Ronan grunts in reply, slings his arms up over his face and leans back against the roof so he’s lying against the shingles. They’re cold against his back through his think t-shirt. He should have put a jumper on. “Anyway. I’d break an arm at the most.” 

 

Matthew looks a little bit disturbed at this addition, says; “Ronan.” 

 

“Dude,” Ronan says, sits back up and reaches out to scuff at Matthew’s hair. “Hey. Come on. I fucking promised you, didn’t I? I’m fine.” 

 

Matthew makes a slight noise of protest at the hair ruffling, but it’s for show, because he leans into it, and then leans forward to knock shoulders with Ronan. “I’m not as clever as you and Dec,” he says, quiet, talks quickly so Ronan doesn’t have a chance to protest. “But I’m not dumb. You’re my brother. I know you’re not  _ fine _ .” 

 

“I’m fine enough,” Ronan says, “I’m getting finer.” 

 

Matthew snorts at this, “Did you drop out of Aglionby so you could use words badly without the english teacher glaring at you?” 

 

“You’re damn right, I did,” Ronan snorts back. 

 

-

 

10:19PM

-im sorry. 

 

~i jjust fucking worry about you, ok?

 

-i know. 

-i shouldnt have lost my temper

 

~i dont care if you lose your temper i care that youre ok

 

-i care if i lose my temper. 

-look. i still dont wanna talk about it rn but i do wanna say that i shouldnt have called you an asshole

 

~i was being an asshole

 

-ok sooooo i should have called you ana sshole?

 

~yeah i think so :P

 

-dumbass

 

~i love you

 

-i love you too.

-we could tlak about this tomorrow if you want

 

~yeah

  
  


-

  
  


Friday, the music is actually working, which is very useful because having it in his head was beyond frustrating, and plucking it out on his bass was much more satisfying than throwing acorns into a bucket. 

 

“It’s sounding good,” Aurora says from the doorway, and Ronan nearly bites his tongue in surprise. 

 

“How long’ve you been there?” he asks, swiping the strings discordantly, “you fu- freaking freaked me out.” 

 

“A while,” Aurora says, coming into the room, “but not too long. Is this your own piece or are you learning something?” 

 

Ronan grunts, plucks out another discordant noise, and then shuffles back on his bed to give his mum room to sit down next to him. She does. 

 

“It’s mine,” he says. 

 

“Does it have lyrics?” she asks, doesn’t even wince as he repeats the discordance, louder this time, “I’ve missed your songs.” 

 

“Uh-huh,” he says, then before she could ask, “I’m not gonna sing them.” 

 

Aurora nods, “I understand,” she says, “it took me a long time to feel like singing again too.” 

 

Ronan knows this. Their house used to be a lot… louder wasn’t the right word, thought it was true as well. Musical wasn’t quite the right word either. Melodic? Who knows.  _ Before _ , his mother had always been singing in the kitchen, or in the garden, or in the lounge, in the bathroom, everywhere. If Niall was around he would always join in. Maybe it’s a stupid thing to feel so fucked up about, but, if it was, it was a stupid thing that his mother had felt fucked up about as well. She sung again now, but only along to music. 

 

“Do you ever get mad at him?” Ronan asks, which surprises him because he hadn’t meant to ask it. Aurora looks less surprised than he does. 

 

“He had three sons,” Aurora says slowly, watching Ronan’s face, “who needed him. He had me. He knew how reckless he was being. He knew the dangers of what he was doing. He didn’t  _ need _ to do what he did. Of course I get mad at him.” 

 

If his own question had surprised him, her answer surprises him more. He got mad at his father, almost as often as he got upset about it, often at the same time, but Aurora had always been so… so put together about it. So loving when she talked about Niall. 

 

“You love him though,” Ronan says to the strings of the bass. 

 

Aurora reaches out to cup the side of his face, rubs her thumb over the stubble behind his ear. 

 

“Of course I do,” she says, “sometimes the people you love do stupid, maddening things. Sometimes you’re angry at them. Do you doubt I love you when I tell you off for getting in trouble?”

 

Ronan shakes his head.

 

“Tell me what’s on your mind, baby?” Aurora says, “What’s eating at you?” 

 

“Am I… selfish for being angry at Adam. For not leaving. For - every day he stays with his parents he’s in so much danger, ma. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t do anything  _ wrong _ or what his parents think is wrong, he gets hurt anyway, and what if - I know his dad has a gun - what if one day his dad just gets super pissed off over whatever and just shoots him? What if he dies? I’m so scared about that. All the time. About him getting hurt, or worse, or - and I can’t say this to him because he doesn’t like talking about it, and because of course he knows how bad it is because he’s the one living it - but - but -” 

 

“It’s not selfish,” Aurora says. 

 

Ronan pulls the bass strap over his head, leans forward to put the bass into its stand near the bed. 

 

“It feels selfish,” he says, “especially when I feel like he’s being selfish.” 

 

“For not leaving?” Aurora asks. 

 

“Yes,” he says, disgusted with himself, “how… how fucked up am I that I feel like he’s being selfish for not leaving because it scares  _ me _ .” 

 

“You’re not fucked up,” Aurora says easily, leans in against Ronan’s side and wraps an arm around his waist to pull him to her, “it’s a natural thought, a natural feeling. How dare he be something you could lose? How dare he be something that could hurt? Yeah?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan sniffs, “fuck.” 

 

-

 

Friday 9:32PM

-are you gonna come pick me up tonight?

 

~yes ofc 

 

-ok :) 

 

~i know we alredy have stuff to talk about but i have some stuff i need to talk to you about too

 

-ok

 

~xxx ill text you when im outside your work

 

-x

  
  


-

  
  


Today has already been weird and a bit surprising, so perhaps it shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was when Adam, after putting his bike in Ronan’s popped boot, slid into the passenger seat next to him and says; “Are we about to have a break up talk?” 

 

“What the fuck?” Ronan says, stomach icy, “What the fuck? Is my expression doing something weird again? No, no, we’re not about to have a break up talk, why would we - what?” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, clears his throat. “No. Just. When you texted and said you had some stuff you needed to talk to me about.” 

 

“What?” Ronan says, “Oh. No. That’s not what I wanted to talk about. Why would you automatically assume - I literally told you a week ago that I love you. I’m not about to fucking break up with you.” 

 

Adam looks like he’s about to snap something back, but then he shrinks down a little in his seat, exhales heavily, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

 

“That’s like, the opposite of what I want to talk to you about,” Ronan says. 

 

“Please tell me you’re not about to propose,” Adam says against his wrists, “I do not have the time to get married right now.” 

 

“Don’t be a shit,” Ronan says, “are you ok? God.” 

 

“I’m fine,” Adam says. 

 

He’s still pressing against his eyes. Too hard.  Ronan reaches out to wrap one hand loosely around Adam’s wrist, tugs it slightly. Adam lets his hand fall away without putting up even a moment of fight, but he doesn’t turn to look at Ronan. 

 

“This is part of what I want to talk about,” Ronan says, and Adam blinks at the window, his reflection in the glass pale. 

 

“What?” Adam asks. 

 

“You… not being ok.” 

 

“I thought that was on the agenda anyway, kind of,” Adam mumbles, drops his chin to his chest, and then shifts a little to look up at Ronan. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan lifts a shoulder in a shrug, “but. Like. Don’t take this the wrong way, but -” 

 

“If you’re starting off by saying not to take something the wrong way,” Adam mumbles, “does this mean that I’m really not gonna like what you have to say?” 

 

“Maybe,” Ronan says. Adam just looks at him, so he continues. “You not being ok - you being in actual fucking danger all the time - it scares me. A lot.  _ I’m _ not ok. I’m always fucking scared, or worrying that one day he’ll hit you too hard, or he’ll get too mad and grab the gun, or that it’ll just be too much and he’ll knock something… important out you. I can’t deal with it. The - the - the constant anxiety, I can’t fucking bear the thought of - of just  _ losing _ you.” 

 

Adam is still just looking at him. Ronan wishes they had at least gotten to drive to the Barns before having this out, he feels to exposed parked in Poppy’s parking lot, even if no one else was around. 

 

“Are you sure this isn’t a break up talk?” Adam asks, voice thin. 

 

“God,” Ronan groans, “I’m not - I don’t want to fucking fix this by breaking up with you, you idiot -” 

 

“Well I don’t see how else this gets fixed,” Adam says, “I don’t want to be hurting you with this, I hate the idea that you’re scared about it all the time. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of it, but I can’t just - what else can I  _ do _ , Ronan? How else can I stop you from hurting?” 

 

“God you’re so fucking infuriating!” Ronan grits out, honks the horn by mistake, they both flinch at the noise. Ronan continues; “I want you to stop me hurting by stopping you from getting hurt. You asshole.” 

 

“We’ve had this conversation,” Adam says hoarsely. His hands are back over his face. “We have it every time I get a bruise. You think I like getting hurt? I would have stopped it if I could. You don’t understand - you don’t.” 

 

“We haven’t had this conversation,” Ronan objects, “we still aren’t properly. Because you never talk about it properly. I can’t understand it because you fucking don’t explain it. Maybe you can’t fucking see how to stop it but if you’d just  _ let _ me help maybe we could stop it.” 

 

“I can’t,” Adam says. Ronan isn’t sure which thing it is he ‘can’t, or if he just ‘can’t’ any of it. 

 

“You  _ can _ ,” Ronan snaps, “you just don’t want to. You’ve got all this fucking pride and it’s fucking you over, Adam, you  _ know _ you can get the fuck out of this.” 

 

Adam, in an uncomfortable move of irony, does indeed get the fuck out of this. He drops his hands from his face, opens the car door, and steps back out into the night before slamming the door shut behind him. He doesn’t walk around the back of the car to get his bike from the boot, instead, he stalks around the front and disappears around the side of Poppy’s. 

 

For half a moment Ronan considers calling his mum, or Gansey, and asking if he’s supposed to follow Adam or just wait for Adam to cool down and come back. He doesn’t, because that would mean speaking on the phone and, a. That sucks, and, b. It’s very difficult to speak coherently when you’re trying not to fucking cry. 

 

He should have insisted they drive back to the Barns first. At least then he’d be in familiar territory physically. He wants to get out of the car to follow Adam, but he feels like his stomach has dropped out of his body and is currently gluing him to his seat. He feels like his bones are made of blood and as soon as he moves they’ll collapse. He feels like if he opens the car door he’ll just fucking fuck shit up even more, so he stays where he is, shuts his eyes, focuses on breathing. 

 

The passenger door creaks back open. He doesn’t open his eyes. The car rocks a little bit as Adam’s weight shifts into the car. He doesn’t open his eyes. The car door shuts again, and Adam exhales loudly. He doesn’t open his eyes. There’s a click as Adam does his seat belt up. He doesn’t open his eyes. 

 

“Let’s go back to the Barns,” Adam says lowly, “and finish this conversation there.” 

 

Ronan opens his eyes, stares at the steering wheel in front of him, nods stiffly. 

 

He drives them back to the barns. 

 

He gets Adam’s dinner out of the fridge. 

 

Adam kisses him lightly on the cheek. 

 

Adam eats dinner. 

 

Adam has a shower. 

 

Ronan goes to his room to get changed, to wait. 

 

-

 

“I don’t have enough money saved up to be able to move out and live anywhere else, especially if I then want to have enough money to leave for university next year,” Adam says, almost before he’s closed the door behind himself, “I don’t have any time to get another job to fund moving out, I don’t have - I don’t know  _ how _ to leave if I don’t have a plan for somewhere to go. I don’t want you to be so… to be scared, Ronan, but I also want to be able to leave on my own terms.” 

 

Ronan’s sitting up in his bed, sheets taut around his knees, knees at his chest, arms around them. 

 

“I want you to leave on your own terms too,” he says, throat raw, “but I don’t see why you leaving so as not to get hurt anymore wouldn’t be leaving on your own terms.” 

 

“That’s not it,” Adam sighs. 

 

“Tell me what it is, then,” Ronan mumbles, leans forward so his forehead is pressed onto his knees. 

 

Adam crosses the room to perch on the end of Ronan’s bed, reaches out to rest his hand on Ronan’s foot under the blanket. 

 

“If I move out right now,” he says quietly, “I have nowhere to go, not enough money in the right places, no plan. I would have to rely on your family’s kindness, or go homeless. That wouldn’t be on my terms. My terms are leaving with a plan in place. 

 

“I don’t need you to leave immediately,” Ronan croaks, “I might fucking want that, but I don’t need it, I just want to know you’re getting out. To know that there will be an end, soon, to always worrying.” 

 

Adam hesitates, then he shifts up onto his knees, and crawls up the bed to squeeze himself in between Ronan and the wall. 

 

“Sometimes,” Adam says, “all the time,” he corrects himself, “I’m terrified that I’ll never get out of here. That I’ll be stuck in Henrietta all my life. Stuck with my parents all my life. I’m… what if I use up all my resources just moving out of the trailer with them and then can never gain enough momentum back to get out of Henrietta? That would be worse, almost. At least when I’m in the trailer I have a plan that’s backed up by funding. If I use some of that funding I have I’m taking out what I need for my leaving plan.” 

 

“That’s not going to happen,” Ronan says, “the getting stuck in Henrietta part. I’ve seen your fucking homework and shit. Your grades are ridiculous. Even if you have a bit less money than you’d like, you could get a million scholarships. We can make a new plan for leaving. It’d be easier to make a new one, make more money, when you’re not stuck under their rules. Please. Please, Adam.” 

 

“I’d need to make up a budget,” Adam whispers, “to see how much money I could conceivably spend, how much more I could make. That’s the first thing.” 

 

“I’ll help,” Ronan says immediately. Adam gives him a look. 

 

“I’ve seen your math skills,” he says, “so thanks for the offer, but, no.” 

 

“It’s ‘cos I’m gay,” Ronan offers and Adam gives him another look. 

 

“I don’t know how long this’ll take,” Adam says then, choosing to ignore Ronan’s comment, “I can’t promise you any timelines. It’ll probably mean I’ll be busier, even.” 

 

“I know,” Ronan says, “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll help as much as I can, and mum could help, she will help if you say yes, and we’ll still see each other at least twice a week, right? So it’ll be ok.” 

 

“That’s another thing,” Adam mumbles, staring at the wall. 

 

“What?” Ronan says, “Mum already knows so much, it’d be easier if we let her help -” 

 

“Not that,” Adam says, “god, babe? This was my last night at Poppy’s. You know that. I’m not gonna be out this way on Friday’s anymore. I don’t have any other time I can come out to stay the night, and, with my hours upped at Boyd’s I won’t have time to just come out to hang either. We can still see each other twice a week, but It’ll be limited to Wednesday and Sunday’s.” 

 

This is pretty fucking bad news, quite honestly. 

 

“Fuck,” Ronan says, “fuck, shit, shitting fuck.” 

 

“Babe,” Adam says. 

 

“Sorry,” Ronan groans, “I fucking didn’t realise that this would mean - fuck.” 

 

“I’m sorry,” Adam replies. 

 

“God, nah,” Ronan says, “it’s not your fault, I just - wouldn’t it be fucking nice if something about life like, wasn’t shitty?” 

 

“Mm,” Adam says. 

 

“I could spend more time in town,” Ronan offers, “we could see each other more if we plan more carefully.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam agrees, “we can do that.” 

 

“What can I do?” Ronan says, “To help? With… with leaving?” 

 

“Nothing yet,” Adam sighs, “I need to - I need to think about my finances first, ok? And I need to brainstorm. I promise I’ll do that, though. I’ll think about it while I’m at work and when I get home so I have access to my papers. You could… you could think about, uh, you could keep an eye out for like, people who need roomates, or something?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

 

“Is there anything else we need to talk about?” Adam says then, “Because I really wanna - I just wanna get to...cuddle you now.” 

 

“You can fucking cuddle me,” Ronan says, sits up a little straighter, “come the fuck here.” 

 

“God,” Adam mumbles, but leans in under Ronan’s outstretched arm, kicks at the blanket with his feet until he gets his legs under, and wraps his arm around Ronan’s waist. 

 

“D’you,” Ronan says then, knows he’s pushing already thin boundaries, “d’you think maybe you’d want to like… file a police report or something, too?” 

 

“No,” Adam says, very firm, his fingers tighten on Ronan’s hip, but he doesn’t pull away. 

 

“Ok,” Ronan mumbles, “ok. Hey. I love you. Like. A fucking lot.” 

 

“I know,” Adam mumbles back, clears his throat, “I love you like a fucking lot as well.” 

 

“I’m writing some music,” Ronan says then, “not for you. It’s not a love song.” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, tilts his head up on Ronan’s chest to frown up at him, “great? You weirdo? I’m glad?” 

 

“I just didn’t want to like, I dunno. Get your hopes up,” Ronan fumbles back at him, “Gansey would think it’s a love song. Because of the timing.” 

 

“What’s it about?” Adam asks. 

 

“I dunno,” Ronan says, sighs, shuffles himself further down the bed and turns against Adam so they’re stomach to stomach instead. “Putting shit back together, I guess?” 

 

“That’s a good topic,” Adam says, takes advantage of their new position by kissing him lightly, then says, “you’re feeling like… I know I’ve like, fucked you up a lot, but you’re ok?” 

 

“I’m ok,” Ronan says, closes his eyes, “I’m not always ok. You know that.” 

 

“I know,” Adam says, kisses him again, “but you don’t - you’ll tell me if you’re feeling less ok? If you’re not getting enough moments of ok? I don’t wanna be the reason you like… feel shitty.” 

 

“Kiss me again,” Ronan requests, gets kissed, “I’ll tell you,” he says, “y’know it’s not like… us arguing that freaks me out so much, yeah? I feel like… I feel like I trust we can resolve shit between us because I know I want to and I think you do too, so like. Yeah. It’s not about that. Not saying I like having really shitty arguments with you, ‘cos I don’t, I mean, I like having dumb arguments with you like about the apple juice you don’t like, but like - God. Ok. Look,” he takes a moment to breathe, to open his eyes and look at Adam who’s watching him very closely, “yeah. Sometimes you make me feel really shitty. But when you do? You come back and make it better again, you fucking apologise. You make up for it. We talk about it. That’s not something that keeps me feeling shitty. The things that keep me feeling shitty are the things like your dad, or how little time we have, or like, like, my dad. Y’know?” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam breathes. Ronan’s probably said too many words all at once too late at night. “I understand,” Adam adds, presses himself closer in against Ronan, “thank you for - for telling me.” 

 

“Whatever,” Ronan grumbles, eager to end this on a less serious note. 

 

Adam kisses him again. 

  
  


-

 

Adam doesn’t have work until ten the morning, which means that they don’t need to get up ridiculously early so as to drive into town. They still get up ridiculously early though, because, if this is the last time for who the fuck knows how long that Adam can be here at the Barns, there’s no way they want to waste it by being asleep. 

 

Aurora is already in the kitchen when they go downstairs to scavenge for food, and she brushes flour off her hands onto the front of her apron before stepping forward to hug Adam. 

 

“Good morning, honey,” she says, pulls back to pat his cheek and to give him a thorough once over, “how are you two this morning?” 

 

Ronan wonders if she overheard their conversation, or if Matthew did and told her, or, also very plausible, if she just knew. 

 

“Fine,” Adam says, “how are you?” 

 

“Good,” Aurora says, either in response or answer, “how long do we have you for this morning?” 

 

“Um,” Adam says, “we’re leaving here at nine thirty, right, Ro?” 

 

“Yup,” Ronan says, steps away from Adam to head towards the pantry, “do you want cereal or toast?” 

 

“Toast,” Adam says. Then. Then he says, “Aurora, I was - uh - I was wondering if there was any chance that you might need an extra hand on the farm some days?” 

 

Ronan drops the bag of bread. Aurora doesn’t even turn away from her mixing bowl that she’d just returned to. 

 

“What days in particular would you be thinking about?” she asks. 

 

“Um,” Adam says, his arms wrapped tight around his waist, “maybe friday afternoons?”

 

“Hm,” Aurora says, adds cinnamon to her bowl, “we do want to get the barns repainted before it starts raining non-stop. Is that the kind of thing you’d be willing to do?” 

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Adam says. 

 

“I’ll pay you fourteen dollars an hour,” she says, stirring vigorously, “how does that sound? It’d be about three or four hours of work at  time.” 

 

“That would be - thank you.” 

 

“I’ll write up a quick little contract,” Aurora says, “once I’m finished this batch of muffins, ok? Lou’ll be pleased. She wanted extra help with the barns.” 

 

“Thank you,” Adam says again. 

 

-

 

“You didn’t say you were gonna ask for a job here,” Ronan says a few hours later as he drives Adam back into town. 

 

“Yeah, well,” Adam says, “I wasn’t sure if I was gonna be able to make myself do it or not, so I didn’t wanna like, disappoint you if I said I would and then I didn’t. ‘Cos, y’know. I don’t want to stop seeing you so often, either.” 

 

“I can come pick you up on Fridays,” Ronan says, “and then we’ll get to work together.” 

 

“What a dream,” Adam says, sarcastically, but he reaches out and holds Ronan’s hand around the gear stick, and that isn’t sarcastic at all. “You’re ok with it, right? I mean - I know I should have asked you. It isn’t gonna be weird?” 

 

“Of course it’ll be weird,” Ronan says, “I’ve never wanted to make out with one of our farm hands before.” 

 

“Dumbass.” 

 

“It’ll be great,” Ronan says, “I’m completely ok with it.” 

 

-

 

“So,” Ronan finishes, from his position sprawled across Gansey’s bed, feet in Gansey’s lap, “where can he live? The council flats are out because, yikes, and most of the people I know looking for roommates are either farmers who like like an hour further out than us, or people like you weirdos who live off campus.” 

 

“Well,” Gansey says, pokes at Ronan’s feet, “he could just come live with us weirdos, you know. He wouldn’t even need to pay rent.” 

 

“Oh sure,” Noah drawls from the pool table. He’s not playing pool, he is in fact, mixing jello. “Can you imagine Adam,  _ our Adam _ , Adam fucking Parrish living somewhere and not insisting on paying his way?” 

 

Ronan snorts. 

 

“Well not really,” Gansey admits, “but it could be worth a shot?” 

 

“That’s what the chicken crossing the road said,” Noah says, “and next thing he knew? KUH-SPLAT.” 

 

Ronan snorts again. 

 

“Ok, fine,” Gansey concedes, “we should ask Blue. I’m sure Adam’s already going to ask her, but her family have their fingers in a lot more helpful pies than we do.” 

 

“And in more pies in general,” Ronan adds, “can you text her?” 

 

“About pie,” Noah says, “we need pie.” 

 

“I’ll call her,” Gansey offers, “when she gets off her shift in like an hour.” 

 

-

 

Saturday 10:02PM

 

-Give me a month with my new hours @ Boyds and with your mum and i think i can afford to move out somewhere super cheap. 

 

~i love you

 

-i love you too dipshit. 

-is that ok?

 

~Yes. it is. it really is

~thank you

 

-i feel like this isnt something youre really supposed to be thanking me for x

 

~yeah but imma do it anyway because i fucking appreciate it

~i wanna kiss you so bad

 

-i wanna kiss YOU so bad

 

~we can hide out in the bathroom at lunch again tomorrow

~mumll probably call us out for it again but itll be worth it

 

-

 

Sunday 7:42AM

~babe youre coming to lunch today right?

 

-

 

11:59

~adam? 

~can you give the time off for lunch? 

 

-

 

12:15PM

~adam im sure youre like just super busy but please fucking text me back because i am freaking out

 

-

 

12:40

~if i havent heard from you by 1 im gonna come round your place. 

~thats not a threat

~im just scared youre not ok

 

-

 

1:03

~im coming around

 

-

  
  


Ronan is well aware that he may be hugely over-reacting. He is well aware that he may be about to get Adam into trouble. But. If he isn’t over-reacting, then, well, who the fuck knows. It might only have been about half a day since he’d heard from Adam, but, Adam  _ always texted back _ . Always. He always said goodbye too, when he had to stop texting. There was never any uncertainty about it. 

 

They drop Matthew off at a friends, and then Aurora drives, to the trailer park. Ronan’s been here before, never all the way to Adam’s trailer because Adam would never let him, but he knows where to go. He has Aurora park a few trailers down, thankful they drove the blue car today and not the BMW because the blue car looked like it could belong here and the BMW would have just gotten them attention. 

 

“I’ll just go - go knock,” Ronan says to his mother, “if Adam’s ok it’ll probably be better for him not to have an adult come ‘round to his house.” 

 

“I think you’re right,” Aurora sighs, folds her arms on the steering wheel. “Be careful, alright? If you feel in trouble at all, just wave for me and I’ll come immediately. Understand?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, makes to open the door. His mother snags him by the arm, tugs him over to her, kisses his stubbly head, and then releases him.

 

“Ok,” she says. 

 

He tells himself that Adam’s phone must have died, and he had left the charger somewhere dumb. Like in Ronan’s car. Therefore he couldn’t have charged it to tell Ronan there was no big deal. His stomach chimes in with the suggestion that maybe Adam is dead? He tells his stomach to shut up, and climbs carefully up the few stairs to the door of the Parrish’s trailer. 

 

Glancing over his shoulder, he can see his mother watching him. She reaches for the car door at his hesitation, and he shakes his head, then knocks on the door. 

 

There’s silence. Then there’s a grumpy bark of a voice from inside, and then quick light footsteps. 

 

Adam’s mother opens the door. Here, she looks a bit different than she did at the store, less somehow. Almost more like Adam. They have the same tired and pinched look about them. She’s wearing glasses, but she still squints up at Ronan. It’s difficult to tell if she recognises him or not. 

 

“What,” she says, voice flat. 

 

“Is Adam in?” Ronan asks. 

 

Adam’s mother glances behind her, then back to Ronan. “Who’s askin’?” 

 

“I am,” Ronan says. 

 

“Why?” she asks. 

 

“Because -” Ronan says, already irritated at the inane line of questioning, “because we were s’posed to meet up real quick at his lunch break and he never showed.” 

 

“He called in sick to work today,” she says, and then makes to shut the door. 

 

“H- wait -” Ronan snaps, holding his arm out to forestall the door shutting, “he is here then?” 

 

She doesn’t reply, just purses her lips and looks him up and down. 

 

“Can I see him?” Ronan asks, works very hard on toning his voice down from a snap to reasonable. He shifts his foot forward to put it in the doorway in case she tries to shut the door again. 

 

“No,” she says, very, very flat, “you can leave.” 

 

“Why can’t I see him?” Ronan demands, has already lost in trying to keep the snap out of his voice, “What’ve you done to him?” 

 

“Who the fuck is this?” Another voice barks out from beyond the door, and Adam’s mother suddenly slinks back a little, melting down even smaller than before, “What the hell do they want?” 

 

A man appears around the corner of the door. He’s so obviously Adam’s father that it hurts. Hurts because he looks like an Adam gone wrong. Like someone had taken Adam and made him cruel looking, and mean looking, and empty looking. 

 

“Who’re you?” Adam’s father snaps at Ronan. 

 

“I work with Adam,” Ronan says, which isn’t technically a lie seeing as Adam had signed a contract with his mother and Ronan worked on the farm too. “I came by to see if he’s ok.” 

 

“He’s fine,” Adam’s father says, no, doesn’t say, growls. He’s the one gripping the door now, intent to shut it firmly in Ronan’s face very clear, “he’s already called in sick to all his jobs, so you can piss off.” 

 

Ronan can’t see a huge amount of the interior, but he isn’t sure if that’s just because his view his blocked by two people and part of the door, or if there just isn’t that much of the house to see. Either way, he can see a small shabby door on the opposite wall, so he hedges his bets. 

 

“Adam?” he calls, raising his voice, “Adam!” 

 

Both of Adam’s parents turn as one to look at the door opposite, and Ronan decides that if he’s gonna hedge his bets he may as well full on bush them. He pushes past the both of them, shakes his arm wildly as he feels a hand grab at him, and swings the door open. 

 

It’s Adam’s bedroom. It’s tiny. It’s a bed, and a small window, and a tiny wire clothes hamper. It’s dark, and everything is shadowed, including the lump on Adam’s bed, which says; 

 

“Ronan?” 

 

“Holy fucking shit,” Ronan snaps, hand fumbling at the wall for the light switch. He snaps it on as hands reach for him again and he slaps at them. 

 

He’s vaguely aware that Adam’s parents are speaking to him, that Robert Parrish’s voice has suddenly gotten angrier, meaner, but Ronan’s attention is taken up with Adam, because Adam doesn’t look like he just… got into bed. He looks like he’s been placed there. Like he’s been dropped, and then propped up. Because his voice when he said Ronan’s name was dry and aching. Because, he can’t see any fresh blood, but there’s plenty of dried dirty looking blood smeared across Adam’s face and staining his blankets. 

 

He glances over his shoulder at Adam’s parents. His father looks like he’s about to say something that is definitely going to make Ronan punch him, and his mother just looks pinched. Past the two of them, Ronan can see his own mother stepping onto the threshold, hair gold in the sun, face stern, shoulders square. 

 

“Mr and Mrs Parrish?” She calls from the doorway, “Alice and Robert?” 

 

Ronan turns back to Adam. He trusts his mother to handle the situation. He’s watched her soothe literal charging bulls. He’s watched her carry hay bales across a field. He’s watched her hold their family together after everything. 

 

“Ronan?” Adam says again, and he sounds fucking awful. 

 

“Hey, hey,” Ronan says, voice low. He crosses the room in barely two steps, the room is that small, and bends over Adam, hands fluttering over the blankets. “What happened? Where does it hurt?” 

 

Adam coughs a little, possibly an aborted laugh. He shakes his head. His eyes are too glassy. Ronan’s fluttering hands land on Adam’s face, checking to see if he’s as hot as Ronan suspects, and yes, his skin his burning under Ronan’s palms. He swears under his breath, and Adam closes his eyes, presses himself against Ronan’s hands. 

 

“Can you get up?” Ronan tries, “You’re leaving here. Now. With me. Are you able to stand?” 

 

“Sure,” Adam sighs, keeps his eyes shut, doesn’t move. 

 

“Adam,” Ronan whispers, “babe, c’mon. Gimme something.” 

 

Adam does not give him anything. He just lies there, eyes shut, like he’d used the last of his energy up in confirming that it was Ronan in his room. Ronan swears again. He could pick Adam up. It was too cramped and constricting in here to check him over properly, to see what the damage was. He gets his arms around Adam before Adam’s breathing becomes rugged, like he’s in pain, and he has to stop. 

 

“Hey, Adam,” Ronan tries again, “shit, babe. What hurts? Can I pick you up?” 

 

Adam shakes his head again, then nods it. Says; “yes.” 

 

He doesn’t say anything else, so Ronan assumes that’s a yes to the picking up. He gets Adam into a sitting position, still under his blanket, works one arm in under Adam’s legs, wraps his other arm around Adam’s waist. He tugs Adam’s torso forward so he’s leaning with his head against Ronan’s shoulder, and then he stands up slowly. Adam’s not exactly hugely heavy, but it’s still a good thing that Ronan’s pastimes are farm work and boxing. Adam’s breathing is even rougher now, but he doesn’t try to shift at all in Ronan’s arms, doesn’t say anything. Just presses his face in against Ronan’s neck, getting it damp. He’s limp against Ronan. 

 

He can hear Robert Parrish yelling, but he can also hear his mother speaking calmly through it all. For a moment he thinks maybe he ought to be scared for his mother, but right now he’s too busy being scared for Adam because now Adam’s in his arms he can properly see the angle of Adam’s arm, the pallor of his skin. 

 

“Ma,” Ronan says loudly, stepping sideways through Adam’s bedroom door - carefully so as not to bump Adam into the door frame and hurt him even more - “I think we need to take him to hospital -” 

 

“He don’t need hospital!” Robert snaps, louder, “He just needs to man the hell up and quit whining.” 

 

“I think his arm’s broken,”  Ronan says, doing his best to ignore Robert as he steps further into the room. 

 

Aurora steps towards him as well, also ignoring Robert. Alice is backed away against the stained couch, eyebrows drawn together, mouth pointing down. 

 

“It’s not broken,” Alice says bitterly, “he’s always bein’ dramatic about this kinda shit. Look at him. He’s lived through worse.” 

 

Ronan doesn’t doubt this. Aurora is in front of him now, hands moving quickly from resting against Adam’s cheek, to touching at his arm, and now she spins back around to face Adam’s parents as Robert takes a step towards them. Ronan recognises the line of her back as her ‘I’m a Lynch and I’m going to fuck you up’ posture. 

 

“I happen to be a trained nurse,” Aurora starts off sharply, “and I know very well what a broken arm looks like, and what your son has isn’t just a simple break. Even if I weren’t trained, I’d be able to see that. What I can also see, with just a simple glance, is some of the grossest neglect. How long has he been covered in his own blood? How long have you left him in his bedroom in pain? How long have you been ignoring this? You might be his parents, but let me tell you right now that if you don’t back off  _ immediately _ I can and will take this to the police. I’m taking him to the hospital - no - don’t you dare interrupt Robert Parrish - I’m taking him to the hospital, and I’m paying for it so don’t get that stupid scrooge look on your face over your own son - and then he can decide what he wants to do about police. Understand?” 

 

Robert’s face says that yes, he understands, but also that he’s considering being reported to the police for more than just child abuse. Aurora’s back gets somehow even straighter, she seems taller than before. She reaches behind her to rest her hand against Adam’s nape, and speaks again. 

 

“You can glare at me all you want,”  she says solidly, “but I’ve stared down plenty of scarier looking bulls than you and I’ve always won, so I’m gonna suggest you step outta the way and let me look after your son.” 

 

Robert looks like he’s considering charging. He steps to the side, face bitter. Aurora leads Ronan to the door, helps him get through it without banging Adam, and then pauses in the doorway once Ronan’s down the front steps. 

 

“I’m not dropping this,” she says back into the trailer, “I’ve had enough of staring this in the face and not doing anything about it. If you can make your son’s life a misery, I can make your lives a misery. Understand that.” 

 

If Adam disapproves of any of this, it’s hard to tell, because his breathing is rough, and his body is stiff, and he’s not saying anything at all. Maybe he isn’t even listening. Maybe he isn’t even really aware of anything that’s going on around him. 

 

They put Adam in the back seat, Ronan with him to hold him together. Aurora drives them to the hospital. Adam is there enough to get his hand around Ronan’s, to hold onto him tightly. He’s there enough for tears to be leaking from his eyes. Ronan can’t tell if it’s because he’s upset, or in pain. 

 

“It’s going to be fine, babies,” Aurora says calmly to the car at large, not speeding as Ronan would have liked, “we’ll stop you from hurting, honey.” 

 

-

 

Adam does, obviously, have a broken arm. He also has a concussion, a fever, a broken nose (again), and (just a little bit of) internal bleeding. Ronan resents being a child at this moment because he’s not the one the doctors say all of this to. They speak to his mother in low voices about how Adam’s x-rays show he’s broken several ribs and healed them crookedly, and that he’s _probably_ _had a broken arm before_ which has also healed wrong because it had never been set, and it’s a miracle really that it set at all. They don’t say any of this loud enough for Ronan to hear, but when Aurora sits back down next to him, she tells him all of it. 

 

“I’ve asked them to write down a detailed report,” she adds once she’s finished relaying the news to Ronan, once she’s wrapped her arm around his shoulders, “with all the instances of damage they’ve observed, so that if Adam wants it, he has some very official proof he could use in a case against his parents.” 

 

“What if he doesn’t want it?” Ronan whispers, eyes closed. 

 

Aurora runs her hand over his scalp in comfort. “If he doesn’t want it, then I’m going to do something with it,” she says. 

 

“He’ll be so angry,” Ronan breathes, “I just - I just made such a mess for him. What if he doesn’t speak to us again?” 

 

“Baby,” Aurora says, still rubbing Ronan’s head, “I would prefer that Adam hated me than letting him go back to those people. Even if only for a month. I know I’ve said that I’m leaving this to Adam to decide, but now I’ve seen so much of this, I’m ashamed of myself for even thinking that. I  _ know _ I can do something about this, so I’m going to.” 

 

Ronan swallows. 

 

“He might be angry,” Aurora continues, voice lower, “but he’s going to forgive you, sweetheart. You know he will. He’ll understand why you did what you did. He won’t blame you for being scared. You two will be ok.” 

 

-

 

Adam has surgery on his arm, surprisingly quickly seeing as usually surgeries, unless urgent, were scheduled for the next day, but Ronan supposes Aurora and her money are both very good at speaking. Ronan doesn’t know what Adam thinks about any of this because Adam had been completely out of it from the moment he’d been whisked away by the doctors. When he comes back out of surgery, Aurora talks to the doctors again, pops into the recovery room to look at Adam, and then comes back out to Ronan. 

 

“Here’s the plan,” she says to him, “I’m going to go pick Matthew up and take him home and ask him to order take aways. Would you like to sit in with Adam to be there when he wakes up?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

 

“I’ll come right back,” Aurora says, “and you can call or text if you need. The doctor says they want Adam here for another couple of hours to check he’s ok after surgery, but that he ought to be able to come home with us tonight. If he wants to.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

 

“Are you alright with this?” Aurora asks, “Would you prefer I stay? Do you want to come with me?” 

 

“No,” Ronan mumbles, “I’m ok with this. I’m ok with you going.” 

 

“Sweetheart,” Aurora says. 

 

Ronan leans forwards towards her. She catches him by the shoulders and steps forwards to bear his weight, kisses his temple. 

 

“I just want him to be ok,” Ronan says. 

 

“I know,” she kisses his temple again, “we’ll work on it. Will you be ok?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan sighs, stands up straight again. “You’ll come right back?”

 

“I’ll come right back,” Aurora says. 

 

-

 

Adam takes a while to wake up. He spends altogether far too long just lying there in the bed, wires in his arms, face bruised against the stark whiteness of the hospital linen. Ronan wants to hold his hand, but he’d chosen badly and sat on the side of the bed that has Adam’s hand with a needle in it. There isn’t exactly another option, though, his other hand is in a thick white cast. He rests his hand against the base of Adam’s wrist instead, slides his fingers under to press against Adam’s pulse. Closes his eyes and focuses on how steady it is. Still has his eyes shut when Adam opens his. 

 

“Hey,” Adam says roughly. 

 

Ronan’s eyes flick open. 

 

“Hey,” Ronan says, his own voice not quite as rough as Adam’s but pretty damn close, “how’re you feeling?” 

 

Adam shrugs one shoulder, almost imperceptibly, winces, “Thirsty,” he says after a few seconds. 

 

Ronan slides his hand out from under Adam’s wrist, pours Adam a glass of water from the jug standing waiting for him to wake up, pops the straw in the glass, and holds it out for Adam. Adam drinks, shudders in a breath, drinks a little bit more. Ronan puts the glass back on the small table. Adam looks at him. 

 

Ronan doesn’t know what to say. Sorry? 

 

“D’you carry me?” Adam asks after a few long moments. 

 

“Um,” Ronan says, “yeah?” 

 

“Hot,” Adam says, closes his eyes again. 

 

“Huh,” Ronan says, squints at the bag on the drip going into Adam’s arm, “what drugs are they pumping you with?” 

 

“Somethin’ good,” Adam says, eyes still closed, “Ro,” he says, “I couldn’t text y’back -” 

 

“I know,” Ronan says quickly, “I know, your arm’s broken, babe, I get it, it’s ok -” 

 

“Nah,” Adam interrupts hoarsly, “I would’ve texted you back with a broken arm. He broke my phone before he broke my arm.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says. “ _ Oh _ .” 

 

“He read the texts,” Adam sighs, “probably all of ‘em.” He pauses to laugh weakly, and then to cough just as weakly, “Think he was just tryna beat some of the gay outta me.” 

 

Ronan swallows hard. He doesn’t know what to say. 

 

Adam opens his eyes again, meets Ronan’s gaze. “I can’t go back home.” 

 

Ronan nods. What else is he supposed to do? 

 

“They know I’m plannin’ on leavin’ anyway,” Adam continues. He’s closing his eyes again. “So I’m - I guess I gotta make a new plan, huh?” 

 

“Babe,” Ronan mumbles. God. What is he supposed to do. “Babe,” he repeats, “lemme make this plan. Ok? Lemme make the plans for now. You should just - you should just fucking - just fucking heal the fuck up.” 

 

“God,” Adam says, “yeah. Ok. I should just heal the fuck up.” 

 

“Please,” Ronan says, hears his voice break, “please let me.” 

 

Adam keeps his eyes shut. He nods, just slightly. 

 

“Come back home with me for now,” Ronan says quietly, leans onto the bed, “you’ve got a concussion, you shouldn’t be alone, or anywhere dangerous.” 

 

“I can’t stay with you forever,” Adam whispers. 

 

“I’m not saying you should,” Ronan says, “you think I want your geek ass in my space all the time? We’ll find you a place to live. Just stay with me until you find that place.” 

 

“I’m never gonna be able to pay your mum back for this,” Adam says, less than a whisper this time, “no matter how long I work on her farm.” 

 

“She doesn’t want you to,” Ronan says, viciously, “this wasn’t a fucking loan, Adam.” 

 

Adam shrugs, his mouth downturned, eyes still shut, wrinkling around the edges. Ronan desperately wants to edge himself onto the mattress and wrap his arms carefully around Adam and kiss the pain off of his face. He would settle for just holding Adam’s hand. 

 

“Everything is so fucked up,” Adam breathes, exhales shakily. There’s a single tear making its way down the side of Adam’s face. 

 

Ronan pushes himself off of his chair, perches tentatively on the edge of the mattress, brushes his thumb carefully under Adam’s eye, down his cheek. 

 

Adam’s lies there silently for a long moment, breath heavy and stilted. Then he says; “Thank you for coming for me.” 

 

“I love you,” Ronan says, which isn’t what he had meant to say, but it’s accurate enough, so he doesn’t bother correcting himself. 

 

“I love you too,” Adam replies, “did you call my dad a little bitch, or did I dream that in surgery or some shit?” 

 

Ronan snorts. “You dreamed that,” he says, “I’ll go back and tell him if you want though.” 

 

-

 

Aurora comes back the same time the doctors come around to talk to Adam. Ronan stands to the side while a doctor and a nurse talk to Adam and Aurora about the surgery and the results and what next, and Adam says, very hoarsely, that he wasn’t sure yet if he wanted to press charges, and Aurora tells him that he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to but if he does then she would help him through it. 

 

Adam is given release forms to fill out, which are actually handed to Aurora, and after a quick discussion with Adam, Aurora fills them out. 

 

“What do you want from your house?” Aurora asks as she scritches quickly, pen on paper, “We can get some of your stuff for you before we go back to the Barns. You don’t have to come in, don’t worry, just tell us and we’ll go get it.”

 

“Um,” Adam says, winces as a nurse removes the needle from his arm and puts a plaster over the pinprick of blood. “I dunno. I don’t know if - I probably need to get like - like my birth certificate. My homework. Um. I have some cash. I should get that. I can’t ask you guys to go back in there, though.” 

 

“You’re not asking,” Aurora says flatly. She signs the bottom of the paper, “I’m offering. In fact, I’m not offering, I’m telling you I’m doing this, I want to do this for you, and I need to know what you want so I can get it.” 

 

“It might be dangerous,” Adam mumbles. 

 

“I’ll be fine,” Aurora says easily, stands up to walk around the bed to press the call button to get a nurse to come collect the paperwork, “I could call some friends of mine to come in with me as bodyguards if you want?” 

Ronan snorts. 

 

“Or,” Aurora continues, “I have the collies in the car. You know how pissy they are, I’ll just keep them by me. How’s that?” 

 

“Mm,” Adam says. 

 

Aurora appears to take this as consent. “Good,” she says, “we’ll do that then. I want you to stay in the car, though, alright? With Ronan. You don’t need to go back in right now. I can deal with this for you.” 

 

Adam doesn’t reply. The nurse shows up. Aurora hands over the paperwork, Adam gets discharged. Ronan helps him to the car, his arm very carefully around Adam’s waist. They had been offered a wheelchair to take him out to the car, but Adam had insisted on not taking it, on walking himself, even though it was obvious he was in a lot of pain. 

 

“I didn’t break my leg,” he mumbles, sweat sliding down the side of his face, “there’s nothing wrong with my legs.” 

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Ronan replies under his breath. Adam’s whole fucking body is shaking with exertion. “You just didn’t want to let me zoom you down through the car lot on wheels.” 

 

“That’s exactly right,” Adam wheezes. Aurora looks over her shoulder at them but doesn’t intervene. 

 

-

 

The dogs are very happy to see Adam, they’re always very happy to see Adam, like he’s the freaking dog whisperer or something. Ronan and Aurora reposition the dogs in the huge boot, and they put their paws up on the back of the seats to lick enthusiastically at Adam’s face. Adam, one handed, is either trying fruitlessly to fend them off, or trying futilely to pat both of them enough. 

 

“Ok, girls,” Aurora says cheerfully to the dogs, “don’t drown Adam in drool, c’mon. Ronan, push ‘em back a bit.” 

 

“I wouldn’t mind that drowning,” Adam says. 

 

“Dumbass,” Ronan says fondly, encourages the dogs to back off a bit. 

 

The mood in the car then, completely drops, because of course, of the destination. As soon as the distraction of the dogs are gone, it’s like the memory of what they’re doing comes straight back and Adam slumps in his seat, and then winces a little as the slump presses at his injuries. 

 

“It’ll be over real soon,” Ronan whispers to him. Adam nods. 

 

“Honey,” Aurora says, “tell me exactly where to get your stuff, yeah? Me and the girls will just be in and out.” 

 

Adam tells them. He’s extremely precise. Ronan would not have been able to give such precision. He knows vague positions of where some of his things are. Like. Like his bass. It’s by his bed. Adam tells them the exact position of a piece of fucking paper in a shoe box under his bed. 

 

-

 

“You two stay here,” Aurora tells them firmly after she’s got the dogs out of the boot. She’s leaning into the boot behind Ronan and Adam, “This doesn’t need to turn into a drama. Stay here, keep the doors locked. I’ll be back very soon.” 

 

“Yes mum,” Ronan sighs, “I was totally gonna let Adam wobble up the stairs to follow you.” 

 

“Oi,” Adam says weakly. 

 

“Be nice,” Aurora adds, and shuts the boot. 

 

Ronan turns to Adam. 

 

“Baby,” he says. Adam sighs. “It’s gonna be ok?” he tries. 

 

Adam sighs again. “Are you tellin’ me or askin’ me?” 

 

“Telling you,” Ronan decides, “I’m telling you.” 

 

“You don’t need to keep telling me,” Adam says, quiet, “saying the words won’t actually make it true.” 

 

“It might,” Ronan replies firmly, “it could. If you let it be ok.”

 

“If I let it -” Adam begins, disbelief and annoyance loud in his voice. He cuts himself off with a huff, leans away from Ronan towards the window, apparently changes his mind, and leans back towards Ronan to lean his head against Ronan’s shoulder. “Just don’t,” he says, “I can’t argue about this right now.” 

 

Ronan would like to say that they could just not argue about it at all and Adam could just agree with him, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He wraps his arms carefully, carefully, carefully around Adam, presses a kiss to his forehead. 

 

“You’re a lot more coherent than I would be right after surgery,” he says. 

 

Adam snorts a little. He’s very limp in Ronan’s arms now that Ronan is holding him. 

 

“They pumped me full of drugs to keep me upright long enough to get out of hospital,” he mumbles, “it’s all fake, don’t worry, I’ll probably fall asleep soon and wake up incoherent and ridiculous.” 

 

“Sounds good,” Ronan says. 

 

Adam snorts again, a bit weaker than last time. He is possibly falling asleep already. 

 

“Go to sleep,” Ronan suggests, “I’ll give you permission to drool on me, even.” 

 

Adam says something that sounds a little bit like, ‘asshole’, but it’s said very quietly right into Ronan’s shoulder, so it’s hard to tell. 

 

“Adam?” Ronan tries a few long moments later. There’s not reply. Honestly Ronan hadn’t expected him to fall asleep quite so fucking quickly. 

 

-

 

Adam sleeps through Aurora and the dogs getting back, through the drive to the Barns, through Ronan huffing and heaving while carrying him inside. He doesn’t wake until Ronan, very sarcastically, wafts a pizza box under his nose. 

 

“I didn’t think that would actually work,” Ronan says with a shocked laugh. He pulls the pizza box away and puts it to the side. Adam is just blinking at him in confusion. 

 

“What?” Adam slurs, clears his throat, “Garlic?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan agrees, “cheesy garlic pizza. Are you hungry?” 

 

“Mm,” Adam hums, closes his eyes, opens his eyes, squints at Ronan, “m’in your bed?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “also, don’t freak out about the rocks on the bed. Chainsaw’s been trying to make you happy by bringing you gravel.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says, closes his eyes again, exhales loudly, opens his eyes, “s’nice.” 

 

“She thinks so,” Ronan says, “mum banned her from the room though, after she tried to bring in some sheep poop.” 

 

“Ah,” Adam says, “hungry.” 

 

“Hopefully not for sheep poop,” Ronan snorts, “your tummy isn’t upset then? Mum says the doctors said you could eat after three hours, and it’s been four, but to listen to your stomach if it’s too nauseous. There’s some anti-nausea pills here too that they gave us if you needed them, I can’t remember what they’re called though.”

 

“M’fine,” Adam says, yawns, winces, “not feelin’ sick.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan grins, then frowns, “pain level? We’ve got like a whole pharmacy of meds the doctors gave you here. You should eat them with food too so now is a good time to take them.” 

 

“M’fine,” Adam repeats, attempts to sit up a little more upright, winces again, and then gives up. 

 

Ronan scrutinises him, and then stands up to go sort through the pills. He holds up a small bottle, “This one's for more long term relief, and for more intense pain. They said you’d probably need this one particularly for the first few days.”  

 

“Ok,” Adam whispers. 

 

-

 

Adam is a little out of it for the next couple of days, which, well, Ronan is kinda ok with that because it means he’s sleeping, and taking the pain killers, and healing, and not freaking out about his jobs, or his school work, or anything else that in Ronan’s mind pales in comparison to Adam’s fucking broken arm.  

 

He’s also super not ok with it because, well. Because Adam isn’t just out of it, he’s withdrawn. He’s too compliant. He doesn’t care. Ronan wants to blame it on the meds and the pain and the last of the concussion, but he recognises it all too well because it resembles himself of only just recently. 

 

-

 

“Yes, I told you,” Gansey says over the phone, “I’m collecting all of Adam’s homework from Blue. Yes. She says his teachers are very understanding. Yes. Ronan. Ronan - I know. Look - can I come round yet? I could bring it all then and then you could stop doubting that I’m getting it all.” 

 

“No,” Ronan whispers. 

 

He doesn’t need to be whispering, but his location makes him feel like he ought to. He’s curled up in the hot water cupboard, sitting on a pile of towels that have fallen of the upper shelves when he’d crammed himself in. This spot used to be a favourite of his when he was younger because it was so warm and dark, a perfect spot to curl up and let his imagination run wild. He’s too big for it now, it’s uncomfortable. It’s still warm and dark though, too dark. He has to have Gansey on the phone to stop his imagination running wild. 

 

Gansey sighs into his ear, and Ronan expands on his ‘no’. 

 

“He’s still just - I don’t know, Gans. I don’t want to - to - mum says he just needs some time to adjust because he’s gone through so much and so much has just suddenly changed so quickly - but I’m - he reminds me of me.” 

 

“He reminds you of you?” Gansey repeats, “What? Has he started swearing a lot?” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan hisses. 

 

“Clarify yourself,” Gansey tells him. 

 

“He’s not talking to me,” Ronan mumbles, “and not in like a - an angry way. He’s just. It’s like he’s not in his fucking body.” 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says. “Oh. He reminds you of you  _ then _ .” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says. 

 

“Are you worried he’s gonna -” Gansey begins, hesitant. 

 

“No,” Ronan says quickly, “no. Not like that, Gans. I’m just … worried in general. And -” he cuts himself off because he hears voices in the background. Voices that don’t sound like Noah. 

 

“Oh,” Gansey says, says something away from the phone, and then to Ronan, he says; “Blue wants to talk to you.” 

 

“What’s she doing with you?” Ronan asks. 

 

“Hanging out,” Gansey says casually, which, coming from Gansey, does not sound casual. “Can she talk?” 

 

“Sure,” Ronan grunts. 

 

“Hey,” Blue says half a second later, “tell me what’s going on. Gansey’s face was getting all weird on my end here.” 

 

Ronan sighs heavily. He doesn’t want to have to fucking explain all of this again. 

 

“He’s getting all like, vague, yeah?” Blue asks then, “Like he’s not actually there?” 

 

“What the fuck, Sargant?” Ronan grumbles, “Were you listening in?” 

 

“No,” Blue says, “I just thought that seeing as that’s how he gets right after he’s been hurt, then maybe that’s what’s happening now.” 

 

“I’ve seen him right after he’s been hurt before,” Ronan says, “he’s never been like this.” 

 

“I guess you’re better at pulling himself back into himself,” Blue offers, “he’s said to me - before - about you - he’s said that he feels like he can have emotions with you, that he can - that he doesn’t have to run away.” 

 

Ronan mostly understands. Not quite entirely. He stays silent so that Blue can expand. Blue sighs heavily, and does so. 

 

“Look,” she says, “I’m no therapist, but - from what I know about Adam? He - what’s the word - Gansey - when you’re like - out of body - no not that one …. Yes! Dissociates. As a form of coping? Which makes sense given his whole fucking life. But like - y’know?” 

 

“God,” Ronan groans, “this isn’t as helpful as you think it is. I’m looking for a way to bring him the fuck back, not a perfect word to describe what’s happening.” 

 

Blue huffs at him. 

 

“I just said I wasn’t a therapist. I don’t know? Make him feel like it’s safe outside his body too?” 

 

“Ugh,” Ronan says, “you don’t think I’m already trying?” 

 

“I think Adam needs more than trying,” Blue replies, “he doesn’t know how to try. He just does.” 

 

“Fucking helpful,” Ronan snaps. It actually was helpful. “I’m gonna go now.” 

 

“You’re welcome,” Blue says, “do you wanna say bye to Gans?” 

 

“You say bye to him,” Ronan says, “give him a kiss from me.” 

 

“Piss off,” Blue says. Hangs up. 

 

There’s a knock on the outside of the cupboard door. 

 

“Are you done with your phone call?” Matthew asks from outside, “Can I come in?” 

 

“What the hell, Matty?” Ronan groans back, “No. You can’t come in. There’s no fucking room. Move. I’m coming out.” 

 

“Thought you came out ages ago?” Matthew says. 

 

Ronan pushes the door open, unfolds himself painfully from inside, and pulls himself out so he can squint at Matthew. 

 

“Did you seriously just make a gay joke?” Ronan asks. 

 

Matthew bites his lip. “It wasn’t… um… homophonic - homophobic I mean - right?” 

 

“No,” Ronan snorts, shoves Matthew’s shoulder lightly. “What’s up?” 

 

“You were in a cupboard,” Matthew replies, a lot brighter now he’s been cleared of being a homophone. “You’re not usually in cupboards.” 

 

“It’s a warm cupboard,” Ronan protests, “it’s not my fault it’s too small and not socially accepted.” 

 

“Adam’s asking for you,” Matthew says then, apparently accepting Ronan’s cupboard defense, “he didn’t know where you were.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says. When he’d left to make his phone call, Adam had been asleep. “Where is he?” 

 

“Lounge,” Matthew says, shuffles a little uncomfortably, “Ro.” 

 

“Uh-huh?” Ronan says. 

 

“Mum says he’s real - real upset. Sad. But like, why would he be? He gets to be away from his mean parents. Like - I don’t get it.” 

 

“He’s got a broken arm, dude,” Ronan says, “I think he’s allowed to be sad.” 

 

Matthew shrugs. 

 

“Can we talk about this later?” Ronan sighs, “I should go to Adam.” 

 

“Uh-huh.” Matthew says. 

 

“Dude,” Ronan says, “it’s gonna be fine.” 

 

“You didn’t sound like it was gonna be fine when you were in the cupboard,” Matthew retorts. Shoves his hands into his sweatpant pockets. “I don’t like - I don’t like seeing you guys so sad all the time.”

 

“Dude,” Ronan says again, closes his eyes briefly, “I know,” he says eventually, weakly, “neither. It’ll be fine.”  

 

-

 

Adam’s still in the lounge. He’s crumpled on the couch by the window, staring off vaguely at the glass. In any other circumstance Ronan would think he was looking out through it, but he’s pretty sure Adam’s gaze didn’t reach further than the glass. 

 

“Babe,” Ronan says to announce his presence, and Adam’s head shifts to look at him, but again, Ronan’s pretty sure his gaze isn’t really doing anything. 

 

“Hey,” Adam says, “I thought maybe you were out in the fields.” 

 

“I was just checking that Gansey was getting all your homework for you,” Ronan says, “sorry, I thought you’d sleep longer.” 

 

“Sorry,” Adam echoes. Doesn’t expand. 

 

Ronan pushes himself away from the lounge doorway, crosses the room, and perches on the arm of the couch. “How’re you feeling?” 

 

Adam shrugs. He’s a lot less pale than he was before. His bruises are fading, he’s less in pain, his eyes are less focused. Ronan has a horrible urge to shake him. 

 

“You’re safe here,” Ronan says instead. They’re weak words, but Adam looks at him, his gaze maybe even making proper contact with Ronan’s face. “You’re safe.” 

 

“I know,” Adam says. “I know.” 

 

“So,” Ronan says, getting weaker with every second, “why are you… so upset?” 

 

“I’m not,” Adam says. It’s so blatant a lie that he winces as the words leave his mouth. 

 

Ronan pushes a little at Adam’s shoulder until Adam shuffles slightly, and then he slips down from the couch arm onto the cushion, squishing himself against Adam, grateful that his broken arm was on the other side. He rests his head on Adam’s shoulder, wraps his arms loosely around Adam’s waist, waits. 

 

“I -” Adam says slowly, “- you’re going to think I’m an idiot.” 

 

“I already do,” Ronan mumbles against Adam’s neck. Adam huffs. Ronan tries again. “Even if I don’t understand,” he says, “I’m not gonna think you’re an idiot.” 

 

“You will,” Adam says. 

 

“Babe,” Ronan kisses at Adam’s neck, “I’m so fucking worried about you. Please.” 

 

“I’m -” Adam says, “I’m - Ro - I’m never gonna get to - I’m never gonna get to go home again.” 

 

For a moment Ronan considers the fact that Matthew had probably just hit the nail on the head earlier. Then he considers how he would feel if he couldn’t go home again. Then he considers how he doesn’t understand how what Adam had could be classified as home. Adam keeps talking. 

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, voice very low, “and I  _ know _ I have no reason to feel… attached to it, but I - that was my home,” he says, voice breaking suddenly, “I didn’t wanna leave like that. I didn’t wanna -” 

 

Ronan doesn’t say anything. Adam gulps a little, regaining his composure and his breathing. He curls up around himself, around Ronan a little, tugs his unbroken arm up so he can grip Ronan’s shirt to pull him tighter against him. 

 

“I don’t have anything here,” he says, so quietly against Ronan, “I mean - I do - I have - but I don’t have any - any - any independence. I can’t do anything. I can’t work, I don’t have my bike, I can’t help out on the farm, I can’t go to school, I can’t pay your ma back, I can’t - I can’t - I can’t -” 

 

“Hey,” Ronan mumbles, “babe, hey. Hey. Take a breather.” 

 

“That’s all I’ve been doing,” Adam says, breath harsh, “I’m sick of it. I don’t wanna be - I can’t just keep taking a breather. I’m losing time. I’m losing - I’m -” 

 

“It fucking sucks,” Ronan breaks in, “this is fucking shitty. You’ve lost a couple of weeks of income. You’re gonna have to work real hard to get back the time you lost at school, even though we’re grabbing all your homework for you. You’re gonna be fucking homesick for ages.” 

 

Adam exhales loudly against Ronan, inhales sharply, clutches tighter. 

 

“But you’re gonna be fucking fine,” Ronan continues, voice getting louder, “you’re gonna get through it all because you’re a fucking genius, and crazy strong, and because I’m gonna fucking be here to support you through everything, because - because - listen, you asshat. You’re fucking allowed to be upset. You’re allowed to miss your fucked up family. You’re allowed to be sad about not getting to go home. You don’t have to pretend like none of this shit is happening. You’re shitting allowed to feel shit.” 

 

He’s said too much, really. He’s just trying to process everything Blue had said to him into words he thinks might help Adam, everything he’s thought for the last week. He doesn’t want to try, he wants to do. He wants to get Adam to remember how to do, even if it means trying first. 

 

Adam doesn’t reply. Ronan can feel his shirt getting wet. He wants to drag Adam onto his lap, to squeeze him tightly, but he can’t do that for fear of jostling Adam’s arm too much. 

 

“You wanna go for a drive?” Ronan asks after a long, long moment, “Get away from here for a bit?” 

 

Adam snuffles into Ronan’s shirt, then nods. 

 

“Waterfall?” Ronan asks, “It’s getting kinda cold to swim, but like, could be nice to just chill there?” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

“We should grab jumpers,” Ronan says, presses a kiss to Adam’s forehead, “and snacks.” 

 

-

 

It’s somehow easier out at the waterfall. Like this particular spot has been reformed in the both of their minds as an open and easy space. The ground is a little damp from an earlier rain, but Ronan drags a raincoat out of the boot and puts it on the ground near the pool, and they sit down on it, ignoring the bite of stone through the fabric. Adam sits between Ronan’s legs, leaning in against his chest, head resting on Ronan’s shoulder, arms wrapped around himself under Ronan’s arms wrapped around him. 

 

“I never meant to make you feel… powerless,” Ronan says after they’d sat in the silence of the waterfall’s thunder for a good five minutes. “I’m sorry.” 

 

“I’m not upset with you,” Adam replies easily. Ronan can feel his closed eyelashes brushing against the bare skin of his neck. They tickle. 

 

“Are you… angry at my mum?” Ronan asks then, “You’re allowed to be if you are.” 

 

Adam takes a moment longer to reply to this. “No,” he says. “I’m not angry. I’m… embarrassed. I’m not angry. I know she couldn’t just ignore it. She’s told me before… that - that if it got any worse she would step in whether I liked it or not.” 

 

“Oh,” Ronan says. 

 

“I just hate not having any control over what’s happening,” Adam continues, slowly, “I don’t know where I’m supposed to go next. What I’m supposed to do next. How I’m supposed to be getting my life back on track.” 

 

“Well,” Ronan says, says it carefully because he isn’t sure how Adam is going to react to this, “I know you - listen - I know you want to find your own place. And I don’t like that, but I  _ get it _ or whatever, so I’ve been looking around and I discovered that - well it’s -” 

 

“Spit it out, baby,” Adam sighs. 

 

“St Agnes has a flat they rent to people in need,” Ronan says quickly, “it’s cheap enough, and it’s central, and it’s kind of shitty but it would be your own place, and I  _ swear  _ I’m not trying to like… keep you under wraps by suggesting a place at my church, or like - or like -” 

 

“Is it free now?” Adam asks. 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan breathes, “um. It was in the church newsletter on Sunday. I saw it when mum go home from church. I - don’t be mad - I called the office and asked if they could hold it until I got a chance to talk to you.” 

 

Adam shifts in his arms so that he can squint up at Ronan’s face. 

 

“That was three days ago,” he says, not quite accusingly, “why didn’t you say anything?” 

 

Ronan shrugs, stares at the waterfall. “I didn’t wanna seem like I was rushing you. And - c’mon, Adam. You’ve been so - you’ve been so distant. I didn’t know how to bring it up.” 

 

Adam leans back against his shoulder, quiet. 

 

“When could I go see it?” he asks eventually. 

 

“Tomorrow?” Ronan suggests, “We could call in the morning. Someone at the office should be able to show you around.” 

 

“I’m not mad at you,” Adam says then, “I don’t think you’re trying to ‘keep wraps on me’. I don’t feel like you’re rushing me.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

 

“Sorry for being distant,” Adam adds. 

 

“It’s fine,” Ronan mumbles, “I was just - just worried. I didn’t know how to help.” 

 

“Take me out of my head,” Adam replies, “that helps.” 

 

“Oh, ok,” Ronan says, “lemme just call up my brain surgeon friend.” 

 

“Dumbass,” Adam says. 

 

“We could make out for a bit?” Ronan suggests, “Would that help?” 

 

“Not gonna lie,” Adam says, “that always helps.” 

 

-

 

The attic flat is actually smaller than Ronan remembered. The roof is low and slanting, the whole place is just two rooms, a living area and a bathroom. There’s a curtain hanging in the corner to partition off a space for a bedroom. The kitchen in its entirety is a sink, a mini fridge, and a microwave. Adam doesn’t look put off. He doesn’t look enthused either, but he stands in the  middle of the main room, staring out at the window overlooking the church parking lot, and nods. 

 

“What do you think?” Ronan asks. He crosses the floor to reach Adam, to wrap his arms around his waist. The office lady had unlocked the flat for them and left them to it, telling them to come downstairs and talk to her when they’d looked. “Is it ok?” 

 

“I’m gonna hit my head on the ceiling a lot,” Adam says, “and you’re going to hit your head even more.” 

 

“Probably,” Ronan agrees. Kisses Adam’s cheek. 

 

“I want to ask about the rent,” Adam says, “and what’s included in it. I think - I think this could be ok.” 

 

“You don’t have to make up your mind right away,” Ronan reminds him, “you can take you time.” 

 

“Why would I need to?” Adam asks, “So long as the rent is ok, this place is great. It’s -  it’s close to school, and work, and Gansey, and - well. It’s not close to  _ you _ but it’s close to places you like going. So. Plus, I like the view.” 

 

“The view?” Ronan scoffs. He pulls away from Adam and stalks over to the window to peer out at the tops of the surrounding houses and he concrete parking lot. It is. Not a good view. You can’t even see the church. It is. A bad view. “Why? This is shit.” 

 

“Because,” Adam says, without even a shred of apparent embarrassment, “I’ll always see when you’ve pulled up.” 

 

“Gay,” Ronan replies with a laugh, “you loser.” 

 

“Jerk,” Adam scoffs back, then, “do they know? Your church?” 

 

“Know what?” Ronan asks, “That we’re together?” 

 

“No,” Adam says, tilts his head to the side, “well actually, that too I guess. Do they know? Are they ok with it?” 

 

“They don’t don’t know,” Ronan admits, swallows, “I dunno if they’re ok with it. I think a lot of them will be. I don’t want to - to come out to them yet?” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

“So, what was your original do they know?” Ronan presses. 

 

“About me,” Adam sighs, “about why I’m ‘in need’.” 

 

“Yeah.” Ronan shrugs. “I - they do. Not everything. Just the basics.” 

 

Adam wraps his arms around himself, steps over to the ‘kitchen’ area. “What are the basics?” 

 

“That you’ve been kicked out of home,” Ronan says. He moves away from the window, “that your injuries are caused by your dad. That you’re not working right now because your arm is broken.” 

 

Adam appears to be considering. He shrugs after a while, and looks up at Ronan. “Ok,” he says. “Let’s go downstairs?” 

 

-

  
  


Adam moves in a week later. This is partially because Aurora had told him very sternly that he had to pass his medical check up before she let him out, and partly because it gives Adam some time to think out his finances.  It takes some doing, but Adam accepts some furniture from Aurora that had been in one of their sheds, and he lets Blue talk him into letting her repaint the apartment a cleaner cream, and lets Noah give him his old stereo because no one should live without music. Best of all, he fucking talks to Ronan about the whole thing. It’s obvious he’s trying hard. Everytime Adam opens his mouth and says something like; ‘I’m worried -’ or, ‘I don’t like-’, Ronan could see it was hard, so he fucking appreciated the hell out of every single instance of it. 

 

By the end of a fortnight, Adam’s flat is set up properly. Blue had managed to sneak curtains in for the window, and a new curtain in for the bedroom partition because apparently the other one was uglier than Gansey’s shoes. 

 

“This place looks like something from some hipster polaroid or some shit,” Ronan informs Adam from his position sprawled out on Adam’s bed.

 

Adam is at his desk on the other side of the bedroom area, bent over some homework. He’d only been back at school for a week now, but he was caught up on his backlog of homework, and seemed intent on getting any new homework done ridiculously quickly as if to make up for the lateness of before. 

 

“Uh-huh,” Adam grunts. 

 

“All you need now is like… an undercut and… and an artistically draped scarf.” 

 

“You’re now allowed to style me,” Adam replies, “especially not ironically.” 

 

“You’d look hot with an undercut,” Ronan continues, thoughtfully, “and if you wore scarves, we could do that gross shit thing where we wear one around both our necks.” 

 

“Sounds like a recipe for accidental strangulation,” Adam tells his maths homework. 

 

“Could be sexy,” Ronan says. 

 

Adam snorts, doesn’t reply, keeps scribbling. 

 

“Does it hurt?” Ronan asks, “I know the doctor said you could write with your broken arm, but like, should you?” 

 

“It’s fine,” Adam says, “did you come here specifically to say dumb things?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan laughs, “I was hoping for it to be dumb things and also kissing, but I’m ok with just dumb things.” 

 

“Give me five,” Adam says, “I wanna finish this.” 

 

Ronan gives him five. Adam finishes his maths homework. Adam carefully tidies away his papers and books. Adam crosses the tiny amount of floor space, crawls onto the bed, slings one leg over Ronan’s lap, and sits himself down. 

 

“I need to talk to you about something,” he says, instead of kissing Ronan. Ronan is only a little disappointed. 

 

“Ok?” he says, fits his hands onto Adam’s hips, rubs his thumbs down, then up again under Adam’s shirt. 

 

“And I don’t want it to be a big deal,” Adam adds on. He rests his arms on Ronan’s shoulders, hands cupping the back of Ronan’s head. 

 

Ronan squints at him. “Ok?” he says suspiciously. He’s beginning to think Adam got into his lap specifically to distract him from whatever bombshell he was obviously about to drop. 

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Adam starts, gives Ronan a look which tells him not to reply with; ‘always good’ or something equally irritating. “I’ve been thinking about - about what to do about - God. Your mum wants me to - to - to file assault charges against my parents.” 

 

Ronan nods. 

 

“I’m not sure - I’m not sure how much I want to do that. To - because, see, I’ve been thinking about it. And, if my dad goes to prison? That’s more than half of mum’s money. She won’t be able to keep the trailer. I don’t know what she’d do. I don’t want to be responsible for ruining their lives -” 

 

“You wouldn’t be resp-” Ronan begins angrily, but Adam cuts him off with a sharp shake of his head. 

 

“I  _ know _ ,” he says, exasperation making his voice heavy, “just. Listen. Ok?” Ronan nods. “I don’t want to do that. But I do want - I do want there to be… to be consequences. I want -  I don’t know how to explain this. I want to be able to say without a shred of a doubt that what he did to me was wrong.” 

 

“ _ Adam _ ,” Ronan tries, because, honestly, there was no shred of doubt. Adam shakes his head again, and Ronan shuts up. 

 

“I want a restraining order,” Adam says, firmly, “I want to make sure he can’t be part of my life anymore. Ever.” 

 

“Your mum?” Ronan asks. 

 

“I don’t know,” Adam sighs, “I don’t - sure. She was… complicit? I guess? But. I don’t know.”>

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. “Ok. What can I do?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Adam sighs again, “just - I guess - tell me I’m doing the right thing?” 

 

Ronan looks at him, squints a little because the afternoon light coming in the window behind him is bright on Adam’s face, and because he wants to properly scrutinise Adam’s expression. He squeezes Adam’s sides. “You’re doing the right thing,” he says clearly, “you are in the right. And I’ll tell you that whenever the fuck you want.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. Exhales loudly, his whole body physically relaxes, muscles loosening under Ronan’s fingers. “Ok.” 

 

“Mum is gonna wanna be involved,” Ronan says carefully, “what do you think about that?” 

 

“I think,” Adam mumbles, slow, “I think - I think I want her to be involved. I think I want that.” 

 

“She’s gonna be delighted,” Ronan grins, “she’s been itching to go to the police for weeks.” 

 

“Who held her back?” Adam asks. He pulls one hand from the back of Ronan’s head to cup Ronan’s cheek instead, strokes his thumb down the side of his nose. 

 

“I asked her to wait,” Ronan says, “and Declan did too. He said it should be your decision.”

 

“Well,” Adam says, “thanks. I appreciate that.” 

 

“She loves you so much,” Ronan mumbles, “you know that, yeah? She honestly thinks of you as - as one of hers. Or like, you know, not belonging but like,  _ belonging _ -” 

 

“I know,” Adam whispers, “I - I know.” 

 

“I love you so much,” Ronan continus, fierce. 

 

Adam’s face is tight in the way that threatens tears, but his mouth is quirked in the way that specifies that they are not unhappy ones. “Enough to write me a sappy love song?” he asks. 

 

“Who the fuck -” Ronan begins, “- did Noah tell you?” 

 

Adam snorts out laughter, leans in to kiss Ronan quickly, “No,” he says, “no. Just - you’ve been so - so squirrely with whatever you were working on on your bass. I knew something was up.” 

 

“Ok fine,” Ronan drawls, squeezes Adam’s sides so he squawks, “I’m writing you a fucking sappy shitty love song. Fuck up.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam grins, “we can get to the kissing part of this now.” 

 

“Good,” Ronan growls, leans in to kiss him properly. 

 

“You’ll sing it to me?” Adam asks against his lips, and Ronan bites his lip instead of kissing it, and pulls back a little so he can look Adam in the eye. 

 

“All the fucking time,” he says, “in supermarkets. While you’re studying. It’ll be annoying as shit.” 

 

“I love you,” Adam says, “you’re such an ass. I love you so much.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! If you like my writing feel free to come yell at me on my Tumblr etoilegarden.tumblr.com


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